


surrender feels safe

by meinposhbastard



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blanket Permission, CEO!Gabriel, Happy Ending, M/M, Meg/Ruby side-pairing, POV Alternating, Protective Gabriel, Protective Sam Winchester, Romance, Slow Burn, Supernatural Beings are known, basilisk!Lucifer, dragon!Michael, sighthounds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 12:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 87,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17284025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard/pseuds/meinposhbastard
Summary: Sam just lost his job. And no, it wasn’t his fault or his employer’s. This isn’t the best of times for small enterprises in Detroit.He is also a week away from being evicted from his apartment and nobody seems to want to employ him. But let’s take a step back and think about the mysterious job offer he receives on the night he becomes unemployed. With no options left, he gives it a try.He doesn’t expect to throw his new employer’s world off-kilter, forge an unexpected friendship with the oldest being in creation and be swept off his feet along with all of it (not necessarily in that order). Things just happen, right?Right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drive since 2015, at 62k and incomplete. I've been meaning to return to it, finish it and then post it because I can't bear to see so many words go to waste (but other fandoms caught my eye and here we are). I also intend to return to the other fic I left incomplete, "I am what you need".
> 
> I also stopped watching SPN at the end of s9 or 10, so there are no call backs to the show.
> 
> Not beta read.
> 
>  **A/N 4/08/19:** So, I entered the WIPBigBang some months ago when I hit a snag in finishing this story. The wonderful Jld71 provided the cover and all the dividers! Thank you Head [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108128/) for the masterpost with all the dividers.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I took some scenes out from this chapter, but it didn't go below 10k. The rest of the chapters will be much shorter. With this fic, my main intention was to explore Death&Sam's relationship, so this first chapter mainly features them, but also some explanation of what kind of world we're in and some of Sam's woes.

* * *

 

The doorbell breaks the silence with one, shrill sound just as the last drop of coffee sinks into the half full glass pot. The two hounds are already there, waiting patiently for their master as they gaze at the front door. Death walks soundlessly to open it instead of just materializing himself there.

A tall, young man shadows the rug on which unsavory words ornate the entrance.  He finds only a modicum of professionalism at the edge of the man’s tired expression. Wrinkles adorn the dove gray suit, partially hidden under the open winter coat. He spares it only a criticizing thought, before he returns to the man’s face.

What his features tell is far more interesting than the wrinkles in his suit.

"Good afternoon," the young man greets politely.

His words are not accompanied by a smile, but he manages to look friendly and trustworthy nonetheless.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, but I found—"

He stops, swallows, rethinks his words and tries again, this time with an ironic small smile in the corner of his lips.

"This piece of paper found me yesterday, actually, and since I'm in search of a job, I thought it wouldn't hurt to come here and find out more about it."

He frowns, probably debating if he got it all wrong.

Death does not look away from his face, not even to look down at the paper in question that is extended between them. The stillness of the world, savoring this unexpected moment, refreshes Death’s boredom. His hound measures the stranger contemplatively.

"It belongs to you, doesn't it?"

The frown deepens, his lips contract for a split second, before they relax and prepare to deliver more words.

"I'm sorry, but the plate on the front said that this is number 669."

 _Six-sixty-nine,_ and the free hand points at the black gates twenty yards behind him, which Death left open with the help of a spare thought before he made coffee. A battered Dodge, which might have once been of an obnoxious orange color, but lost its shine a long time ago, stands quietly just to the side of the main path.

"Yes, it is," Death says.

A glimmer of amusement sneaks its way into his eyes. It should have been 671 _(six-seventy-one),_ but Gabriel succeeded into convincing the mayor to give him the number 669 instead. He never quite understood Gabriel’s satisfaction in pulling strings for insignificant things—  like the one in question.

"But we should discuss the terms of your employment over a cup of coffee, Mr.—"

 _Winchester_. He knows, but Sam Winchester does not. Yet.

"Winchester," he replies as predicted, still frowning, but he extends his free hand towards Death. "I'm Sam Winchester. But Sam is fine."

Polite. He also notes that there isn't any 'it's a pleasure to meet you' attached to it because, apparently, Sam Winchester is not sure if he is pleased to meet him or not.

Death does not take his hand.

"Come in, then, Sam."

Two emotions fight to take over on Sam's face, Death notices with interest.

First, the mix of annoyance and embarrassment for being brushed off so rudely and the surprise at discovering the two hounds meeting his gaze. He stands there and stares back at them, heart taking a delicate lilt to its pulsing.

Sam is surprised to see them, but he isn't scared by their height or appearance. Although the hounds have a knack for making humans feel uneasy, they are not aggressive. Both breeds are intelligent; agile, supple _and_ intelligent. They are peaceful creatures.

At least until either Gabriel or he commands otherwise.

The yellow piece of paper is crushed under Sam's fist's force, as if it is the only thing stopping Sam from doing something… foolhardy. It has been some time since he last had to interact with a human in flesh and bone, and yet, the many mechanisms they find to rein in their emotions never ceases to pique Death's interest.

Finally, Sam conquers both emotions and steps inside, mindful of the sighthounds and Death. He does not seem to mind that both hounds follow him closely, one on each side, the perfect image of two silent guardians escorting a guest inside their home, as Death indicates the way to the kitchen.

The rare occasion Death had humans come inside, every single one of them had the habit of staring openly and unabashedly at the lush interior of the mansion. In spite of Gabriel’s supposed love for material gains and luxury, which have no other purpose but invited such outrageous reactions as mouths agape or unwarranted gasps or any derivative sounds, Death has never been fine with that level of rudeness.

Hence the absence of human visitors in the past couple of years.

Sam, on the other hand, is more subtle than that. He gives only a cursory glance around, taking in the hallway and then the kitchen with all that they entail, and does not seem bothered by it.

But the refinement that is surrounding him certainly does not go unnoticed.

He accepts the green mug of coffee Death hands him, but does not make a move to take any of the cookies he pushes to the center of the table in silent invitation. One teaspoon of sugar finds its way into his coffee. Everything is done without looking anywhere else but at the contents of his mug.

A man capable of a single-minded focus. Out of necessity, in this case, of course. He does not want to appear rude, but Death is sure that this is not a behavior put up just for show.

Sam Winchester might prove to be too perfect for his own good.

"I'm sorry to cut this meeting short, but what exactly is it expected of me, should I accept your offer?"

Short and concise. A tinge of rudeness hidden in there, but Death is used to this brand of forwardness. Sam's, though, is much softer than Gabriel's.

Death sits opposite Sam at the light cream table, his hound always in close proximity, but still keeping a respectful distance between them. Animals know when to stay close and when to back away; it is their sixth sense, and the one that they listen to, for which Death has a pinch of respect.

Gabriel’s hound, on the other hand, is splayed on his stomach near the doorway, just as alert.

"What it says on the paper."

The simple statement brings a wry smile to Sam’s lips.

He looks at the mug between his hands and then up at Death. Not demure, no. The glint in his eyes contrasts with the faint circles under them. They mix and twist together to paint the last days of Sam Winchester's life on his face. Hard days, tired days. Miserable days. Yet, he did not give up on hope.

Sam Winchester is not yet done with life.

As he said, maybe too perfect for his own good.

"Are you the caretaker in question?"

This kind of approach is brash and crude. Death is not sure where to place it on the spectrum of traits that is becoming his possible help.

"Some may say that."

Sam lifts his eyebrows a casual inch, a physical response to being unsure how to take those words.

"Shouldn't I speak directly with the owner of this house about my employment?"

Death's lips twitch. "In most cases you would, but this manor's owner left the decision in my hands."

Sam considers the words. Death waits patiently.

"Your employer trusts you a great deal."

Death's mouth twitches again, the amused glint in his eyes becoming more evident.

"How could you be sure I'm not someone with a malicious intent or a hidden agenda? I don't want to be rude, but you're alone in a big house, a few miles outside the city."

 _And old_ , he does not add. But he looks like the words dance on the tip of his tongue.

Death smiles as if he is struggling to keep in his laughter. Between the two of them, he doubts that Sam is the dangerous one.

"Then you'd be a well-mannered burglar."

Surprise flashes on Sam's face. He certainly did not expect Death to take his serious words so lightly. Then he chuckles and shakes his head like he does not believe that he is having this conversation with an old man, in a lush manor just outside of Monroe.

He seems to be skeptical about a lot of things, but, wisely, he does not say more than he believes is necessary.

Death finishes his coffee and goes over what he wants from Sam, his payment and his work schedule. By the end of it all, Death does not see any shadow of doubt left on Sam's face. The glint of hope has expanded in his eyes like an infection. It spills into his smiles, morphs them into something more carefree, and touches a set of dimples Gabriel most probably would not miss.

But a slight crease between his eyebrows alerts Death of Sam's unease.

"I started to lose hope before coming here," Sam says, looking at his empty mug; it is still between his palms. "I thought that I'd make the fifty minutes drive here to discover that this, too, was a dead end. I thought about a lot of things." He looks at Death. "And then you dump all these things — good things — on me and I can't help but feel hopeful again. Are you sure you're not my fairy godmother?"

He asks like he is not expecting to have an answer to that question.

The light glints through the window at the same time as Sam’s head bends slightly to one side and catches a moment in which his eyes are completely open and unguarded. What Death’s penetrating gaze finds out in those ever-changing pools tips the balance in Sam’s favor.

The sunset ray disappears behind a pregnant cloud and the unusual hazel with specks of faded green appears as if it is injected with a smoky golden around the pupils — like fissured discs.

He expects Death to blow his hope away, by the tone he used.

Sam Winchester dares Death to laugh and tell him this was all a sham, all a perfectly directed, well-played act with an involuntary victim as the protagonist. His eyes beckon him to pull the curtain over the spectacle, to bring to a close the infection that has put a sprint to Sam's blood in his veins, a delicate push to his beating heart.

Death's lips twitch again.

"I am not a _faery."_

A blanket of clouds overwhelm the setting sun.

"I know."

Sam shakes his head with a twisted smile as if he is saying, _I was just joking._ The green starts to develop around his pupils like an ivy closing over Sam’s secrets.

"I am Death."

He does not leave any emotion — any _recognizable_ trace of emotion in his voice as he states his identity.

Sam Winchester goes perfectly still, acting the part of the deer caught in the headlights to perfection, even if that should have been Death's part—if he hadn’t been the one to announce who he really is with so little finesse.

"What?"

The word comes out on the rush of breath that leaves his lungs, as if it got stuck in his throat and only when the need for oxygen pushed his body to react automatically, did it manage to get out of there.

"Do try to get a grip of yourself, Sam,” Death chides him.

He does it like a grandfather chides his nephew when he is being unreasonably thick-headed.

"You must know that both the supernatural and the human world coexisted for more than five centuries, by now. Unless you have come here from under a rock." He measures Sam with his eyes. "Did you?"

"No."

It’s an astounded whisper that leaves Sam’s mouth. The man is pretty shaken in Death's opinion. Peculiar how being surrounded by so many riches did not rise more than an interested glimmer in Sam’s eyes, but finding out that he is talking with a supernatural being pulled the proverbial rug from under his feet.

"Will this be a problem?"

He must make sure that Sam does not harbor any negative feelings towards the supernatural, otherwise his employment here will not take place in any kind of future.

Sam passes his hand over his face, exhaling.

"No, of course it won't be a problem with me. I've nothing against you. I'm sorry. I must look pretty shell-shocked to you right now. It's just that I've never had much contact with beings other than human, and since you blend in with us so perfectly, I never gave it much thought.”

"Good."

"Is—" Sam looks at Death. "Is my employer the same?"

"As me?" He nods. "No, but he is not human either."

He frowns and opens his mouth to ask more, but Death sends him a pointed look and Sam is smart enough to let the question die on his lips.

"Well, that certainly discourages any vile act I might have intended to perform," he says conversationally, the smile more evident in his eyes than on his lips.

"That was the intention."

"Are you really— Death?"

"Is it so hard to believe?"

"Yeah, because Death comes to those who are about to die. It doesn't sit in the kitchen of a luxurious house, talking about my employment over a mug of coffee. And I'm healthy enough to know that I'm not about to die. Unless my death will be of the unpredictable or supernatural kind."

He peers at Death questioningly.

"Do you think I would invite you in with the promise of a job just to see you die?"

"Didn't you?"

Death lifts an eyebrow.

Sam smiles somehow deprecating.

"Isn't it written somewhere? The day, place and cause of my death? This might be it and you, for whatever reason, treated me to a last, incredibly delicious coffee, before I drop dead."

"You have the strange notion that I would allow you to make a mess in here," says Death placidly and Sam laughs.

It is not self-deprecating or ironic or forced. Just a rumble of notes accompanied by the dimples. Amused, light, joyful — _nice_.

"Do you believe that your fate is written in stone?"

Sam sobers up almost too fast not to be amusing.

"Sometimes it's easier to have something to believe in."

He says it like he talked about his inevitable death, which, it seems, it will happen right here in Gabriel's kitchen. As he said, he has had a fair amount of humans come into this house, but none as peculiar as this Sam Winchester.

"So, am I going to die today?"

Death smiles.

"No, Sam, you are not going to die today."

He deliberately phrases the words like that, just to have the predictable effect of seeing the questions multiply themselves into Sam's eyes. Death does not give him time to put sound to any of them.

"What you are going to do is go back to your apartment, have a good night's rest and then come back tomorrow to commence your new job."

"Aye, aye, Captain!"

The grin accentuates his dimples. Death narrows his eyes. At least there is no blabbering and erratic heartbeat involved. The boy handles the shock professionally. Even if said professionalism comes in the form of a crass joke.

"Don't be rude."

Just like a drunk man, Sam lost some of his inhibitions.

"Sorry, sorry.” He twirls the mug between his hands. "But you're bossy."

"I believe you had at least one job before coming here. You do know what employer means. Or do I have to explain it to you?"  

Death keeps his amusement from showing either in his tone or in his eyes, which Sam are looking intently at. He does not come on as chiding or angry or offended. But factual, like an old being explaining a simple concept to a child.

"Okay, sorry. I said I'm sorry. I could've kept my mouth shut on that comment."

Yet his grin does not lose from its intensity or brightness.

"But you did not."

"I'm only human."

Sam shrugs, an unbecoming gesture Death decides to let it pass this once.

"It stopped being an excuse a couple of centuries ago."

A lull befalls their conversation, time which Sam uses to collect himself and sip a couple of times from the mug. The coffee has gone cold, but Sam does not seem to mind. He might be used to cold coffee, particular which Death is sure will change during his time here. Death also notes, with a slight relief, that the boy does not feel the need to fill the silence with words.

But Sam purses his lips, an unsure look on his face. The mug might have developed a headache by now, if it would not have been an inanimate object, for it does not cease to be spinned.

"There's one more thing."

He exhales, finally; it sounds like a fortifying gust of breath to Death's ears than the resign it alludes to.

“I wouldn't ask this of you because you've already been kind to me and showed me respect, and I wouldn't want to come off as rude or ungrateful, but—”

"Sam." Death interrupts and waits until Sam looks him in the eye. "You are beating around the bush."

Sam smiles wryly. "Right. Down to the point." Another sigh. "I'd need a three month advance to avoid waking up on the street on Monday."

"This mansion has plenty of rooms you could use.”

The proposition is said without any meaning or intonation attached to it, yet Sam still throws him a funny glance and he seems to be on the brink of getting out a scathing remark.

He schools his features instead.

"I'm grateful for your offer, but I like to keep my job and private life separated— if you don't mind," he adds, trying to cover the sarcasm in that last part with the dimpled smile.

It does not work on Death, but he is not offended by it, either. Depending on the level of rudeness and the person in question, it takes a lot to offend him, which prevents certain unnecessary situations to develop.

Sam handled it graciously.

"Of course."

Is all Death says as he extracts an envelope from the inner pocket. He pushes it towards Sam and his eyes skitter from the white envelope to Death a couple of times, unsure what to do.

"In this kind of situation you take what is being offered to you and do not look a gift horse in the mouth."

“I’m not sure. There might be an army of Trojans hidden in there.”

It is a poor excuse for a joke, but their conversation has put Death in such a mood that he plays along with it.

“I doubt the Trojans considered finding a way to cross back the veil between life and death just to fit into this envelope.”

Sam huffs a weak laugh which finishes with his lip being abused by his teeth. He never understood why some humans have this habit. And why others find it attractive.

There is nothing attractive in abuse.

"Are you sure?"

The boy has had one too many hardships in his life. He certainly is not used to ask for something and have it given to him so easily.

Maybe he should tell him that he will work the worth of those money?

Then again, that is not his style.

"Would I offer them to you, if I was not?"

Sam purses his lips once again, but this time is to impede his smile from taking over all of his face. He looks like the kind of person to whom that could happen.

"Thank you."

Death likes the amount of sincerity that Sam pours into those two words. There is nothing hidden in there. Just pure, undiluted honesty. He does not remember the last time someone thanked him with so much sentiment.

Indeed, too perfect for his own good.

***

 

He calls the number a third time.

No answer once again.

He sighs, long and suffering. Dean gave him that number and explicitly told him to call it in case of an emergency. This isn't exactly an emergency, but it's reason enough to want to hear his brother's voice. It's been _months_ since they last talked to each other. His frustration is only quelled by the thought that he now has a job _and_ he won't wake up homeless come Monday. Another sigh. He throws his phone on the passenger seat and changes lanes, taking the Detroit exit from the highway.

 

***

Pulling outside the black gates, he recalls his visit and surreal conversation with — Death. He couldn't call it any other way. Besides the fact that he's never heard anybody claim that they conversed with Death over a cup of coffee like he did, he doesn't remember any particular of their conversation. It's all shrouded in a thick fog, difficult to grasp. But he does recall his impressions of the place, of Death.

So much luxury, so many details only in the hallway, the statues of half-naked women and men alike, the little Cherubim placed at the entrance, flanking the door. He noticed the absence of rugs on the dark brown wood tiles and scratch marks here and there. The elegantly twisted stairs leading to the first floor had two holes on each step, proof that there had been some sort of rug covering them at some point in the past. Not to mention the kitchen door jamb: near the ground level a piece of wood was missing, as if it had been either blown off or chewed on by someone.

And then there was Death.

The gates open just when he's halfway out of his car and he sees the silhouette of the man in question at the end of the path, just beside the stairs leading to the manor's entrance. The two dogs flank him.

A man — creature? — of calm, precise manners, silent and polite. Observant. Yeah, he didn't take his eyes off Sam except one or two times during the half hour they talked.

He parks in the same spot he did yesterday, left side of the car on the grass, right side on the paved path. It’s a slow uphill to get to the house, more recognizable if one looks from the gates. It hits him as he shuts his car’s door.

He's been employed by Death. _Death_. Why does the gravity of the situation knocks him only now, when he's accepted the job?

Did he?

Searching his foggy memory, he finds no black inked words on a white paper. No "Employment Contract" anywhere. He didn't sign anything. He stops. The dogs study him with a lazy curiosity and Death just watches him as he works through his internal panic attack. What is he doing here? _Why_ is he here? He didn't sign anything. Why?

He looks up at Death, searching for answers.

"Did you overcome your shock?"

The question is not spoken derisively or harshly, although with him, Sam isn't sure how to interpret his words or expressions. He recalls he did make a mental note among the confusing discussion: never trust what he thinks he reads on Death's face. With the man’s words he might have a bit of leeway, but with his expressions — better to not count on them often, if he is to work here.

"I didn't sign any contract."

He might want to rewind and say those words with more conviction, more befuddlement. They sounded like he was two seconds away from passing out. Like the breath was knocked out of him.

So stupid.

"You did not."

It’s confident and calm. Everything is so damn controlled with him. Sam actively thinks to latch onto the vexation this knowledge raises in him. It’s better than shock and confusion.

"I thought you would want to see for yourself what you are needed for, and then sign the contract. You did not seem completely convinced yesterday."

Is that a lie? It might be. He bases this assumption on the fact that yesterday he was pretty much over the moon for this new offer, after being refused six times.

Consecutively.

On the same day.

It's impossible to not have let any of that joy spill onto his face. At times he's such an open book, he works hard to keep it close when he's not overwhelmed by emotions.

Sam must look as unconvinced as Death affirms he had been yesterday, because he takes the time to explain.

"This arrangement is for you to ascertain it is a job you would like to do. If it is not, you can walk away. A contract is for life here, Sam, don't ever forget that. But all this in due time. You will have time to go over it after lunch."

Sam takes a step forward, reassured by Death's words, but then stops again when the phrasing of that sentence finally catches up to him. He can walk away? But he paid Sam three months in advance! How could Death let him go just like that?

Death gives an exasperated sigh.

"Sam, you are over-thinking."

"But—"

"Work, now. Questions, later."

This time Sam's pretty sure that's a direct order.

Bossy.

Sam hides the smirk behind his long hair as he looks back at his car to _supposedly_ make sure it's okay, even if nobody could or would steal an old Dodge like his. Unless that someone is beyond desperate, and he doubts there is any human in a five miles radius beside him and Death that could fit into that description.

Not that Death would need a pick-up like Sam’s; he seems to be someone who would rather prefer classic cars. Like his brother’s Impala. He is classy like that.

When he turns again, Death is nowhere in sight. Of course he teleported himself wherever he wanted to be and didn't walk like a normal human. That's _Death_ he is and will be dealing with, not some hippie old man with a fascination for odd nicknames his brain came up with when he was five seconds from falling asleep. He will need to get used to all these strange occurrences sooner rather than later. That way, things will run more smoothly.

The two dogs jog towards the corner of the house and disappear behind it. He believes them to be sighthounds, but he might be mistaken; he'll have to ask Death. In the meantime, he admires the side of the house completely covered in ivy, how the wind creates endless waves of greenery.

He finds Death near a small house painted an obnoxious orange color and with a dark green roof, that looks like it's used for storage. It's situated in the back garden, behind two big oaks that might or might not have been placed there to act as two guardians to the shed.

From what he saw inside the mansion, the owner has particular tastes — if not strange. But Sam doesn’t make a habit of judging people by their clothes, social status or other possessions, although the unusual placement of the tall oaks piqued his curiosity. He adds it to the growing list of things to ask Death.

There is a wide range of tools in the shed, he discovers when he finally comes near enough to see inside. Death hands him a red handle trowel and a pair of gardening gloves.

"What are we planting?" he asks, taking the items with a quiet ‘thank you’.

"Hydrangeas," Death says as he wills the door closed behind him.

Sam startles, but Death doesn't seem to have seen his reaction, his step sure and sedated as they make their way towards the opposite side of the backyard.

He finds four different types of hydrangeas placed on the grass, near the decorating rocks; they run along the wall in either directions. When Sam kneels and sinks his gloved hand into the empty dark brown earth, he finds it soft, yielding, as if the earth has just been turned over and made ready to house the plants.

The smell of wet earth is prominent now that he’s sitting near it, fresh from the rain last night. He glances towards Death. Could he have done all the preparations before Sam came over? The plants were already here, but then again he could have used his — unknown — powers, something like he did with the storage door. It’s not impossible for Death to turn over the earth and make four hydrangeas appear from thin air.

As he thinks about the abnormality of all of this and watches as Death puts on his gardening gloves, unhurried and elegantly, he takes his time studying the unusual choice of clothes Death wears. It is unusual for Sam, since yesterday he was dressed so formal in a dark suit and white shirt.

Right now, his garments look old and well worn-out: soft, faded black jeans, what looks like a white undershirt or even a t-shirt and a plain dark brown button-down shirt over it.

Death is in casual clothes and Sam lives to tell the story. Isn’t he damn lucky?

Death’s expression is more rigid than normal, as if he’s keeping something at bay. He takes the nearest hydrangea from its pot and rips off the cellophane wrapped around its roots. Sam receives the message and digs up a hole in the soft earth with the trowel.

They work in silence, perfectly synced, for an hour, taking care to plant each flower at a respectable distance from one another. Hydrangeas need space, just like humans do.

"You won't actually let me walk away if I say no to your offer, right?"

The question comes half an hour later. He couldn't decide if he wanted it to be heard by Death or not. Either way, the words are out and he can't do anything to take them back.

"I won't?"

Sam hears genuine surprise in his tone, but he doesn't turn to look at him. There's the risk that he might be confused by what he'll read on Death's face. Not always his expression and his tone of voice are on the same page, he's starting to learn.

"You paid me three months in advance. No person in their right mind pays someone that much money and doesn't expect anything in return."

“People who donate money to charities would beg to differ.”

“I’m not a charity,” Sam retorts, not entirely offended but neither amused.

Death falls silent, his gaunt face smoothed over by the amused look on it. Superficial wrinkles disappear and he looks somehow younger and _livelier._

"Maybe I am simply a humanitarian who found that you needed the money more than me, so I gave them to you."

Sam lets out a humorless laugh, hands still working on placing the plant in the hole he dug and covering its roots with earth. Death rests his hands on his knees, where he’s _kneeling_ besides Sam, and is probably looking at him, Sam speculates absentmindedly.

He's good at keeping his expressions at bay, and if he remembers correctly Death is usually depicted as a cloaked skeleton with an ominous scythe as his companion. If it’s true and Death was like that before... changing, then maybe he's not used to show his feelings on his face. He's still learning to control them.

Then again, he might as well be making too big of an assumption here and Death actually manages his expressions far too well.

"You are Death."

He says it like it's the only plausible reason why he couldn't be what he just said he might be.

"And does what I am limit the choices of who I want to be, even temporarily? I could be a lot of things, Sam. Death is just my — default setting."

"Death is a fact,” Sam hurries to explain. “It always happens. You don't want to, but it happens. Always. It's impossible to escape death. It's immutable."

He somehow doesn't manage to express the concept he wanted to. Talking about death with Death feels like he's trying to grasp sand with dry hands.

"Death is not always about the act itself. It is about what happens afterwards. Death is about change, Sam. It is both the end and the beginning of something new," he explains patiently. "You are talking about a concept. Something that happens around you each moment of your life."

"And aren't you? Weren't you a concept?"

The rest of what Death said is information he needs to mince carefully, before offering his opinion on it.

"I have always been me."

Sam looks at him for a long time, repeating the words in his mind like a broken disc. He can't find the subtext no matter how many times he twists them. Death has always been Death. Yet, why does it feel like these simple words belie much more than he could possibly comprehend? Maybe because he's sitting side-by-side with the oldest being in creation?

Maybe.

"Okay. Let's agree that you don't have any need for the money, so you wouldn't feel its absence if I were to refuse this job."

He takes a deep breath, trying to put an order to his jumbling thoughts. Why is it so hard to follow logic? He's good at that. He's good at taking facts and dismantling them to pieces to better comprehend them.

Sam taps the earth around the hydrangea's stalk, still frowning. What point was he trying to make?

"It's the concept," he erupts, words thrown out with force and emphasis. "It's the concept of the transaction. You allowed the upfront payment, because you expect me to come here and work their worth for the next three months. You _trusted_ me to come back and maintain my part of the bargain even if I didn't sign any contract."

Sam steals glances at Death to make sure the man heard him. No expression betrays what goes on behind those timeless eyes. He looks as if his only focus is the task at hand: covering the hydrangea's roots with earth.

"There is a grain of truth in what you said."

Sam can’t read anything in his tone of voice. It’s all so carefully cloaked and measured that Sam is starting to get frustrated.

"But what you do not know is that I do not bargain." Sam frowns. "I did not give you the money because I expected you to work their worth. Money has no value to me."

Of course not, you deal in souls. Sam bites his tongue before those words are out. From what he saw, Death puts great value on manners and the remark he was prepared to deliver has enough sarcasm in it to pass as rude and offensive to someone so wise and _old_ as him.

"You needed those money. I had them."

"Simple as that?"

"Yes, Sam, simple as that."

Death might be smiling, but Sam doesn't dare turn his head and look for himself. Still, the words travel soft and amused to him.

 

***

He finds nothing wrong with the contract, even if this is the second time he reads it. They already had lunch — fast food stuff, but it was the best meal Sam has had in a while, so he doesn’t complain, for he _doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth_ ; see, he’s a quick study — and then Death prepared two cups of coffee while Sam was busy perusing the contract he might or might not sign.

Everything they agreed upon the day before is in there, plus other obligations for both parties like the fact that Sam is forbidden to talk about anything that happens during his working hours. He passed over it the first time he read it, but now he stares at the sentence, brows furrowed in suspicion.

Why would that be necessary? Unless it concerns him, he doesn’t speak of his work with anybody. Not that he’s had time to make friends, but some people from his last job could pass off as friends. In a vague, general way, that is.

Besides, the only thing they did all morning was to plant hydrangeas left and right. The evergreen shrubs near the front porch were harder to take out, because their roots intermingled and Sam had to cut them. He had been reticent to come inside when Death declared that they were done with planting, but Death reassured him that the cleaning company could do with a bit more than dust.

It keeps them from getting too cocky and thinking that they’re having it easy.

He didn’t actually use those exact words, but Sam still finds it difficult to remember their conversations, nevertheless actual words. He does remember chuckling, because it was clearly a joke. Even Death had the shadow of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

Looking up, he finds the man in question near the kitchen window, hands casually clasped at his back and half turned towards the scenery beyond the fence. From where Sam’s perched, on the same stool he used yesterday, he can only see half of Death’s face. The faraway look he picks up on doesn’t come across as just lost in his thoughts. There’s more to it than Sam is able to discern.

He clears his throat; it sounds louder than he intended it to, but he doesn’t have time to wince or apologize, because Death’s gaze meets his. There’s nothing on his face to indicate—whatever Sam thought that he saw. Death’s expression is as neutral as it was the first time Sam met him.

“Does the contract meet your requirements?”

He doesn’t move from the window sill.

“Yes.”

But he frowns. Sam glances back on the paper, because he’s sure he wanted to ask something. Ah, yes, there it is.

“No,” he adds.

Death doesn’t betray anything on his face when Sam’s eyes return to meet his.

“There’s a passage in the contract that I find— peculiar. Why is it explicitly required of me to keep from talking about anything that might happen during my working hours? This leads me to believe that there are things happening here that you should have told me about before.”

“That passage exists in your contract for precautionary purposes only.”

“But you’re not denying that there are things happening.”

Too many lawyer movies, Sam. Maybe you should have chosen Law instead of Arts.

The corners of Death’s mouth turn upward ever so slightly.

“You are and will be dealing with supernatural beings, Sam. If you see or hear things that do not concern you, both I and your employer would be grateful if they do not leave these walls. There still are a lot of things the humans and supernatural lot do not know about us. We would like to keep it that way.”

Which Sam translates as: keep your mouth shut and be the Employer of the Year.

His eyes linger on Death’s face, roaming, searching for underlying messages, but he finds none, as far as he can read people. Death proves once again that when it comes to supernatural beings he has no experience. And it’s true. It’d be in his disadvantage if he didn’t acknowledge that.

“What if, hypothetically speaking, I overhear some things that would put me in danger?”

“In that case you are obligated by the addendum 3.1. in the Requirements of the Employee to notify your authorities, which then they will bring it to the Human\Supernatural court to be revised.”

He returns to the contract in his hands. His eyes find another strange passage.

“Why does my employer’s obligations consist of taking care of my well-being?”

It’s the way it is phrased. Usually the employer is required to insure their employee for any accidents that might happen on the place of work. This one, though, sounds more personal.

“A contract is for life with us, Sam. There is no foreseeable termination, unless one or more of the reasons for which the contract can become null happens. It is common to be employed in an environment with mixed species, but it is extremely rare for Gabriel to employ a human for his house. In fact, you are the first one.”

Death is serious. His expression belies nothing but the gravity of the choice Sam is about to make.

“You will work here, but you will also become a part of this household.”

Sam frowns. That sounds a lot like he’s coming to be a part of a family, which is ridiculous. There’s only Death and his dogs and then the faceless employer he still has to meet. What is he getting into here? He looks down at the papers in his hands. This contract is for life, meaning that he can’t break the contract whenever he—

No. That’s not true. On the second-to-last page he finds another passage that talks exactly about that.

_The employee can terminate the present contract if any of the following occur:_

_a) the employee’s life is in danger;_  
_b) any life-endangering injuries have been sustained during his or hers working hours;_  
_c) improper advances have been made towards the employee without the employee’s explicit consent, thus threatening his or her integrity;_

He can’t break the contract without a sound reason. Neither can his employer.

Death takes a seat opposite him at the cream table.

“In your present world, it is a necessity in order to protect both your and Gabriel’s interests. However, the decision is ultimately yours to take.”

It is.

Sam swallows and returns to the contract, eyes gliding over words and sentences without keeping any in mind. His thoughts are elsewhere, turning and twisting options and possibilities.

The fact that this is a contract for life scares him witless, he doesn’t deny it. It’s—it’s a long time they are talking about here. Time during which anything can happen, any of the reasons why he could end the contract. But he doesn’t count on them. It could be a way out of the contract, but he would never stoop so low as to frame his employer for any of those options.

He always thinks his choices through, taking into consideration every viable option he has so as not to regret it later. Yet, this is much bigger than any decision he’s had to make in his entire life. The pressure is almost too much to bear.

He rearranges the pages so that he has the last one on top and takes the fountain pen in hand. His full name is written on the left side of the page, while his employer’s, along with his signature, sits on the right. Sam hesitates.

This is his last chance of turning tail and go search for another job. There sure are places that would employ him. Detroit is a big city. He might not get one as good as what he had or as peculiar and alluring as what is dangling before his nose, but he’s a big boy. He can do it. Challenges are meant to be taken up front and personal.

He stares at his name, the tip of the fountain pen millimeters above the dotted line just below.

This is a challenge, too. A little less rough and less straightforward. It has lines he sees perfectly, and others he doesn’t. There’s mystery and danger alike, and he’s not completely convinced that he should take the risk.

It’s also an opportunity to get to know the ‘other side of the world’ more personally. Textbooks can only give you so much information, and it’s a general opinion that supernatural beings differ from each other the same way humans do. And he’s not so arrogant as to claim that he knows everything about the different species that live among humans.

This is an opportunity to get to know one — or two, if the actual man with whom he’s about to sign the contract will return to his home in the near future.

He’s mentally gnawing his fingers, because curiosity and logic are at war. He can’t both stay and go away. He’s only one person, which means that he needs to pick a side.

The fountain pen runs smoothly on the dotted line.

There’s no going back now.

Death smiles an actual smile when he looks up.

“Thank you, Sam.”

The pen and the papers disappear God knows where. His decision feels more permanent now that the contract is gone.

“Do not worry, a copy awaits in your apartment.”

“Do you think I made the right decision?”

His body still hasn’t decided if it’s elated or wants to throw up. The jury is still out there. He only prays that if it’s the latter, it better not hit him when he’s on the road.

“Do you regret signing the contract?”

Sam snorts and looks away, out of the window.

“I still haven’t decided.”

 

***

As it turns out, his body does neither. He goes home after eight that night and returns the next morning without the slightest doubt about his decision or feeling as if he bit more than he could chew.

He counts it as the most amazing start of the day he’s had in a while.

Three days turn into six, and six into twelve. He didn’t know that he could have so much work to do, even with Death there. But he had said that the owner, Gabriel, wants to keep his home magic-free, because apparently things have a nasty habit of absorbing magic — or residues of magic — when someone performs it. That’s why Death keeps his powers in check, using barely the minimum.

Sam should have asked why is that, because the way Death explained it tingled some inner bells in Sam, but for some reason he kept his mouth shut on the matter. There will be other opportunities to get that information, after all he’s there for life. They can’t get rid of him without a sound reason.

It only means that Sam is on a fantastic journey of discovering hidden talents, like the fact that he knows how to use the lawnmower, despite never putting his hands on one in his life (being a quick study saves his ass once again).

He also does a particularly nice job as a plumber, because five months of living in an apartment where everyday there was something to fix, does give you enough experience to put it into practice in a, say, caretaker job.

This job — it’s something totally different than what he thought it would be. It’s nice and even if he comes home and the only thing he searches for is his bed where he crashes to have blissfully dreamless sleep, he feels accomplished.

Also, Death is engaging.

Normally, Sam doesn’t talk while he works, but with Death it comes so naturally that it never feels like mindless chit-chat just to fill the silence.

That’s another thing about Death Sam came to like and respect alike. He’s a quiet man who minds his own business and knows when to talk and when to listen. It might be his supernatural senses that come to his aid, not that Sam is complaining. There’s so much about Death Sam doesn’t know, and so much he finds out each day — it never feels enough.

He found out from the first day that Death is a man of principles and calm nature. During this past week he also learned that he doesn’t tolerate rude people and that he prefers quiet places, but he doesn’t like to be completely alone. Sam suspects that Death might have a problem with loneliness from what he’s found out from their endless conversations, but he’s not sure.

And he won’t ask.

At least not so bluntly as to put Death on the defensive. There’s a story behind that shadow of _old_ and _timeless_ he sees on his face every time Death looks lost in his thoughts.

Don’t get him wrong, Sam has a lot of questions he’d very much like to be answered. The problem is that more than half of them are too sensitive to be brought to light so soon in their budding relationship. Besides, he likes what they have. Death stimulates his intellect so subtly that it is always a delight to be wrong and have him correct Sam.

He never knew he needed a person like Death in his life.

Apart from the hard work, they take lunch and dinner together. Always. And Death made it clear in no uncertain words that they aren’t optional.

He stopped asking where does all the food he offers Sam come from, because he never receives a straight answer. At least, not a verbal one, because he’s sure Death says a lot more when he’s not talking, but Sam’s too inexpert in reading body language to catch the shifts and turns and twists and the secret code to decode his _expressions_.

Oh, Death’s expressions.

Those are worse than the Rubik’s cube.

They're not even a maze; he sees no point of entrance. The day Sam learns Death’s tells will be the day Sam will proclaim himself a genius. He’s never met a person more sophisticated or better at pulling a poker face than Death. Even when he clears his face of any aspects, he seems like he’s expressing so much more than Sam can read.

There’s so much more Death teaches him, like how to clean the solar panels installed just to the side of the gates, because of course the manor is self-sufficient, or when and how to prune both the plants and the few citrus trees that are scattered around the property.

Not to talk about the many conversations they’ve had on varied topics, such as life on other planets, the concept of life and death, the world’s current political status, even war. That last one got Sam heated up, and Death seemed to enjoy himself riling Sam up with a few pointed, but logical arguments.

Sometimes he feels like an apprentice, other times he is the help he was hired to be.

Then, on the thirteenth day since he signed the contract, they receive an unexpected visit. Just to be clear, the unexpected part is strictly for Sam. Death seems to have expected this person.

It’s Sam who opens the door, on Death’s polite request.

It’s also Sam who has a few moments of déjà vu until he recognizes the person standing in front of him.

“You.”

He’s had more intelligent and polite first greetings than this one, he’s sure. Still, that doesn’t answer Sam’s question: what is this stranger doing on Death’s doorstep?

She smiles. “Hello, Sam Winchester.”

She doesn’t extend a hand. Her eyes don’t leave Sam’s for a moment and the focus gets to Sam. It’s familiar.

“How did you—”

“Know your name? I saw the time and place of your death, and there’s only one human who dies there and then.”

Her small smile never once falters, as if she didn’t just talk about Sam’s death.

He gawks as politely as he can, which is to say that he looks shocked into the next Tuesday.

“Good morning, Tessa,” Death greets her and saves Sam from an awkward pause as he automatically steps aside to make space for the older man.

“Good morning, Death.”

She glances quickly at Sam with an odd expression on her face. Sam doesn’t manage to read it, because his attention is attracted by Death’s slight incline of his head, as if he just acquiesced to a question Tessa might have asked.

 _Who_ is she? _What’s_ her relation to Death? The questions are dancing on the tip of his tongue, but he knows that he might sound too nosy and he’s been working for almost two weeks only, so he makes a conscious effort to keep his mouth shut.

“Sam.”

Two pairs of equally piercing eyes turn to him and the deer caught in the headlights feeling soaks him.

Good thing he is used to it by now, having dealt with certain people who used this mechanism to try and have the upper hand apparently in confront to Sam’s height, so he manages to keep his cool and wits about.

Still, that doesn’t lessen their intensity.

“I would like you to meet Tessa. She is a Reaper.”

She doesn’t extend her hand this time either, which is good, because Sam’s assaulted by a second wave of shock. He could have saved the “ _a what?_ ” he got out, because he surely must look like a simpering idiot. In fact, Death’s raised eyebrow tells him as much. It’s not nice to have Death look so unimpressed at you. Time to save face or die trying.

“It’s nice to meet you… I think.”

Death likes honesty and Sam is a bad liar. What a match, right?

Tessa’s smile transforms from polite to amused in the blink of an eye.

“Could you excuse us for a few minutes, Sam?” Death asks, tone oddly formal and distant. “I think that the coffee is ready.”

Sam doesn’t ask. He knows how invasive his curiosity can be, so he just nods and walks back into the kitchen, following the smell of freshly made coffee.

He still hasn’t got to do it himself, but he knows it’s something Death will most probably show him in the future. He’s seen him grind the beans into the powder he puts in the filter. Every time he sips the coffee, he debates if he likes better the smell of freshly grinded coffee or that of freshly made coffee, but he has a feeling that he won’t ever be able to choose between the two.

Both have something unique in them.

“Sam.”

He doesn’t jump five feet in the air.

It’s a near thing.

He turns around to see Death in a three piece suit covered by a dark, elegant overcoat. The silver-headed cane is a new addition that doesn’t escape Sam’s attention.

If there ever was a look to inspire Death’s main job, then this must be it. But Sam’s probably biased, because he knows who — or what — Death is. On a second glance, he looks like one of those old businessmen who prefer to maintain the fashion of their youth rather than to update to the modern one.

Or, to stop romanticizing things, Death does a veritable impression of a mafia boss. He’s got places to be, fingers to chop, right?

He stops the snort at that thought, but his mouth must have twitched or curled ever so slightly at the corners, because Death’s arched eyebrow changes his expression just as ever so slightly as Sam’s mouth must have, and Sam feels like a chastised kid.

Which is unfair. He's a grown-ass man, not to mention over six feet tall.

But between the two of them, it's surely not Sam the one that has the power to take away all the life on Earth without even lifting a finger, so he shouldn't feel so ridiculous in the posture of a child. Logically, he is but a mere baby compared to Death.

The other affirmation about how he sees humans offended Sam slightly, so he took the liberty to change it into something less degrading.

“Sorry. The look is new to me.”

Sam hides the amused smile behind the lip of his mug.

Death remains in the doorway, as impassive as a statue. Now that he thinks about it, he looks ready to go out. Sam frowns.

“I should have told you about this on the first day.” Death precedes the inevitable question. “Taking into consideration my — special conditions, I need to be away for two days.”

“What?”

He’s panicking.

“Special conditions? You didn’t…”

Yeah, he didn’t tell you anything. Are you going to get into a hissy fit with _Death_?

Well, at least now he knows that he is capable of sassing himself. He blows some air, which is both a sigh and a way to cool down his hot coffee. He lowers his mug.

“Okay, um, should I stay home? Or...”

“No, you will come and go at your usual time. The remote control for the gates and the keys to the house are by the front door. However, during these two days your main priority will be the dogs. You need to keep them fed and entertained. With the rest of your time do what you like. You are a smart person.”

Wonderful.

The dogs don’t even know he exists. They ignored him since day two. He wonders how this particular side of his job will go. Let’s see, he’ll either get his life sucked out of him chasing the dogs (because they can reach miles in a shockingly short span of time, and even if Sam is blessed with long legs, he can’t possibly compete with that kind of speed) or they’ll continue to ignore him.

Or maybe they’ll chew him like the toys they don’t have when he’ll try to befriend them? Possibly. He never heard them growl, least of all bite someone — or something — so maybe he has a fifty-fifty chance of success.

“Anything else, mom?”

He couldn’t keep the sass in check this time.

A shadow passes over Death’s features and seems to light something in his eyes, but Sam’s too preoccupied thinking that he might call his snark on like he did the last time to read it as anything but amusement. Pure nerves, he now knows what they can make him say.

But this isn’t the result of nerves. This is him tapping into his bratty persona, because apparently that’s how he filters vexation through his principles of politeness.

He surprises Sam when he says, “do not think you have free reign to organize a party in my absence, young man, because I will know”, which sends Sam into an incredulous fit of chuckles.

One corner of Death’s mouth twitches into a half-smile and Sam’s in better spirits.

“I will see you the day after tomorrow.”

“Okay, have fu—” Sam clamps his mouth shut so fast he almost bites his tongue in the process. “I’ll see you then,” he amends and Death disappears, but Sam catches the entertained smile nonetheless.

His grin could replace the lights in the kitchen.

 

The pull forces him to return earlier than the last time. It is night outside and half a day too soon.

Death appears besides the kitchen window just as the purr of a car comes to a stop. When he turns around, Gabriel’s hound is in the doorway, ears pricked and staring intently at the kitchen storage room. As Death pushes the sliding white door just behind the iron shelf in the center of the rather spacious pantry, he feels his hound touching his thigh lightly, alerting him of her presence.

He takes a moment to caress her head, before descending the cement stairs into the underground car stall. They twist at about halfway, forcing Death to turn left, but Gabriel’s hound runs past him before he even takes the second step.

Gabriel’s delighted laugh echoes in the ample space and his hound yips excitedly like he always does when his rightful owner misses from home for so long.

Almost two months this time.

“Heya, buddy! How’ve you been?”

He lets the hound raise on his hind legs and Gabriel dutifully supports his front paws on his upturned forearms to let him lick his owner’s cheek. The look of honest delight and joy on Gabriel’s face is a rare occurrence.

Death approaches silently, but stops a few steps away from the still on-going wet greetings; his hound sits on her haunches just besides him.

When they finally disengage, Gabriel releases a long sigh, but does not look up at Death immediately. Instead, he closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, sucking in all that has happened in and around the mansion in the time he has been away.

He always does that when he gets home from long trips. It is his way of making sure his house is still magic-free and to reacquaint himself with it.

There is nothing fake in his smile as he turns his head to look at Death properly.

“Hello, Death.”

“Good evening, Gabriel.”

“I see you’ve been entertained these past weeks.”


	2. Chapter 2

 

There’s something primal surrounding Sam Winchester, twisting just beyond Gabriel’s reach. Something unidentified, yet _there,_ as if it is waiting to be brought to light, but in no hurry to do so on its own.

The dimples, however, do wonders to take Gabriel’s mind off the matter when the tall (sequoia tall) man places a (big, wide, yet slim, almost delicate) hand between them. Gabriel doesn’t miss a beat, used as he is to the usual deal-sealing or formal handshake, and takes the proffered hand into his (smaller, slightly chubbier, but no less stronger) hand.

It matches Gabriel’s firm hold.

(Tendrils of pleased surprise unfurl behind his social mask.)

He expects the usual spiel of ‘nice meeting you’ or ‘it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance’ and the likes, but Sam says nothing beyond the initial ‘hello’. His dimpled smile diminishes gradually, though, like a slowly-deflating balloon.

(It brings displeasure to him for some reason.)

“How do you find your job here?” He can keep the formal up for a little while longer. But not indefinitely. Home is where he sheds his masks and comes as close to being himself as he can. (New being around or not.)

“Satisfying.” Curt, but still polite. The smile doesn’t reappear.

Gabriel wouldn’t describe Sam keeping the eye-contact as challenging. (His instincts gear up at the notion of someone challenging him in his house even just slightly.) It’s less bold, more sophisticated and sharp. (Attentive.)

Accommodating, too.

“Is that so?” Gabriel’s smirk remains glued to his lips as he searches Sam’s face. Neither have lessened the hold on the other’s hand, yet neither has enforced it.

It’s a standstill.

“I would like to return to my work, if you don’t mind, Mr. Milton,” Sam says, relaxing his hand and forcing Gabriel to release it completely.

“Call me Gabriel.”

The smirk is tight-lipped. The formality of that sentence rubbed him the wrong way. Unpleasant reminder of how his employees address him. Or the occasional patronizing asshole who believes himself to be everything more than Gabriel.

What a pleasurable sight it is, when he puts them in their right places. Not always. He has other, more important and pressing matters to attend to, than to waste so much precious time on teaching arrogant idiots their deserved lesson.

This is totally different. (Personal.) It must be the setting. There’s no ethic, no rigid rules to abide to here, in his own home. And Sam feels more a part of his house than he has any right to be. For Gabriel he’s still a stranger — and a possible threat.

(But Death accepted him. Hmm…)

“And sure thing, kiddo. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

Odd.

(Unfamiliar.)

He’s never this polite. With anybody. Who’s this person, again? He needs to talk to Death, before he rings up his personal crew of investigators. He’s itching to know everything about this man. It’s not just curiosity now.

Sam stares back at him with the same surprised expression Gabriel himself must be showing. “Okay,” he says, doubt dripping gallons from his tone.

Gabriel turns around and exits the kitchen, leaving his half-finished mug of coffee on the countertop next to Sam, before he says anything else uncharacteristic. Generally, when someone piques his interest, he never gives up until that someone is where he wants them to be.

Usually writhing in ecstasy under him.

With Sam, a gut feeling tells him that that persistence will only push the man further away. Not that they’re close or anything like that. Only an hour or so ago they finally got acquainted. It’s way too early for anything more than testing the limits.

(Curiosity continues to erode his patience.)

Currently, he’s sipping wine and looking out of his study room’s window into his backyard. His personal quarters take up most of the left wing of the house and consist of a spacious bathroom on the left, equipped with everything a modern bathroom needs, a cosy study room on the right and a huge bedroom in the middle. The only access to the two are through the bedroom and he likes it like that.

Sam says something to Death as they tend to the back shrubs and when Death turns to regard him, there’s a rare smile on his lips. Well, half-smile. Gabriel sees him in profile.

They’re conversing and Death looks more relaxed and _alive_ than he’s ever been in the centuries since Gabriel has known him.

He sips more wine. What is it about Sam that has charmed Death so completely?

He is polite, that much he gathered from their earlier conversation when he (not so kindly) ambushed Sam in the kitchen while he drank his coffee. Death wasn’t there, but he sensed him on the back porch feeding the hounds. Sam’s not very talkative (and Death may secretly like that), and his honesty is crude around the edges.

Gabriel suspects that if Sam is challenged, he wouldn’t be afraid to tell it as it is right there and then no matter the consequences.

“Death,” he whispers, cradling his glass of wine between his middle and ring finger and swirling the red liquid around absentmindedly.

Death tells something to Sam, which makes the young man look up at him, but nods once and returns to the shrubs.

His presence does not fill the room as it is normally expected (Gabriel is dicking around with that notion, which means that Death ignores him completely), but that’s because Death is above this intimidatory trick. That and the fact that he has no reason to scare Gabriel. (Not that he could be scared so easily.)

He turns around and looks him over once. “You look improved,” Gabriel comments.

“Refreshing as it may be, your straightforwardness needs some polishing up.”

It doesn’t rouse Gabriel. (A comeback is poised on the tip of his tongue, however.)

“Sam Winchester is a peculiar character, I take it?” Cutting right to the chase. They do have this aspect in common.

Death arches an eyebrow, as he always does when he knows someone knows the answer but asks nonetheless. “You had ten minutes to assess and catalog him. Have you become rusty since you hired that behavioral psychologist to take care of the new employees?”

He used to hire people personally, that’s true. See them at least once before deciding if they were fit to work in his company. But after a while it became a bore and annoying. All kinds of people came in: polite, rude, nervous, entitled assholes, lost in space, self-assessed, exceedingly polite, talkative — it became a nightmare.

And that was only the human side, because the Emancipation Rights back in the early 1800s stated that companies and every other establishment were free (obligated, let’s not beat around the hole) to hire from both sides, thus beginning the Great Merge of the Supernatural and Humans. GMSH, in short.

Politics.

He delegated someone else for this particular job of recruiting people for his company.

And frankly speaking: no, his reading people skills are not rusty. In the slightest.

Gabriel smirks and goes to place the glass of wine on the edge of his desk. He stays there.

“You know that’s not the case.”

“Then you shouldn’t ask obvious questions—”

“If I don’t want obvious answers,” Gabriel finishes his sentence, as rude as it may be. “But see, that’s the thing. What am I not seeing that you saw in him?”

“You admit that you could not place Sam into a category.” Death mulls this over, again not giving a straight answer.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied,” Death points out.

Gabriel assesses him for a while. Death dutifully keeps his thoughts to himself, face a clean slate of only wrinkles and dull, timeless eyes. He hates him when he does that. Deliberately _doesn’t_ communicate with Gabriel through his expressions.

“You won’t tell me anything about Sam Winchester.” Gabriel keeps the eye contact.

“Sam Winchester is his own person. If you wish to find out more about him, I hear that asking the interested person directly has satisfactory results.”

The snark is not lost upon Gabriel. That doesn’t mean he likes it when Death sasses him. Especially when he imparts wisdom with him. He’s never presumptuous or arrogant, and that pisses Gabriel off at times more than if Death were.

“I should dispatch my personal crew of investigators. Meg’s useful tracking nose needs a new challenge.”

“I advise you against that,” Death says calmly, meeting Gabriel’s narrowed gaze without flinching. The advice has more warning undertones to it than anything else.

Moments pass.

“Fine,” Gabriel begrudgingly agrees, taking a seat in his ergonomic chair.

“I am surprised by your enquire, Gabriel,” Death continues, approaching the mahogany desk. “It is unlike you.”

Gabriel sighs, eyes returning to the window thoughtfully. “Don’t I know it.”

“But you didn’t call me here to talk about Sam Winchester.”

“Not initially,” Gabriel answers truthfully. “I found nothing in Guatemala. The local guide and translator helped me through the most part of their mythology, but there’s nothing on what we need.” He sighs dejected and slumps in his seat. “This is becoming frustrating. It’s more than a century that I’m searching high and low, left and right with no results. Are you sure you don’t—”

“Gabriel,” Death interrupts, an ugly glint in his eyes as his mouth quirks slightly at the corners. “Do you think I wouldn’t have taken these down,” he lifts both his hands and a slim, translucent rope, twisting over his wrists in a restraining way becomes visible (Gabriel doesn’t like the sight of it, so he averts his eyes quickly), “if I had the knowledge? Have you eaten something bad whilst you were in Guatemala?”

Gabriel scoffs and rolls his eyes. Death narrows his, because Gabriel knows how much he doesn’t like when he does that.

“Isn’t there any knowledge of this on, I dunno, other planets? Galaxies?”

“I doubt that other species in other galaxies would know anything about this binding. In this aspect, they’re more civilized than you.”

“Yes, thanks for reminding me of your distaste of Earth,” Gabriel snaps back.

Death is unruffled. “I do not dislike Earth. Dislike is beyond me.” And how is Death capable of uttering such words and not come off as arrogant or prim, Gabriel has no idea. “I am merely stating the facts.”

“Insulting the one who’s actually trying to help you,” he retorts, eyes involuntarily flashing golden.

Death is a part of his family, of his home. It’s hard for Gabriel to keep himself in check around him. Tidbits of his true nature come out at inopportune moments when he’s home. It’s a psychological fact, he knows. His brain translates being home with being himself. And it’s not wrong.

(Still.)

“Have you considered that maybe the solution to my — issue resides with your brother?”

Filaments of electricity fill his narrowed eyes.

“He’s not the solution. Never was. Never will be. And that’s the last place I want to look for a solution.”

“Where are you going to look for next?” Death asks, not unkind.

“I have no idea,” Gabriel admits, shaking his head and closing his eyes. “At this point, I’m at a standstill.” He sighs defeated.

 

***

He needs to drive back the rental car to the airport, because he paid only for a day, but he has no intention of taking a cab back home. (Boring.)

He’s been back and forth in cabs in Guatemala to last him for the rest of his life. He caught the hottest week and the cabs didn’t have A\C, so this experience has put him off taking a cab _anywhere_ . (He prefers to have the control of the car; how it moves, when it moves, _how fast_ it moves.)

So thank you very much, he’s going to ask someone to take the rental car while he takes his own car. And that someone is either Death (highly unlikely; he’s expressed his distaste of Gabriel’s choice of cars as clearly as he could) or Sam.

Sam.

Hmm.

He scratches his hound behind one of his ears as he looks out of the back porch. They’re still shaping up the evergreen shrubs placed neatly along the backyard’s wall. Sam isn’t an expert at what he’s doing right now (that much is clear from the way he looks up at Death every once in a while to make sure he’s doing it right), but he follows Death’s advices neatly and to the best of his abilities.

He should have known that Sam is the type of guy who can make tough things look easy. He does a spectacular job at inviting Gabriel there to join them, without even trying.

(It’s possible that Gabriel has become a little too easy to convince.)

Then again, he’s not that easy.

“Sam.” He stops a few feet away from them; he’s still scratching his hound’s ear.

The man whirls around a little too fast, surprised to see Gabriel there.

(Why should he be? This is his home; he can go wherever he pleases.)

Gabriel spares a glance to Death. Curiosity gives a light tone to Death's eyes and some wrinkles seem to have disappeared.

“I need to take back the rental car to the airport, but I’m not inhuman enough to drive two cars at once.” He smiles slightly, the unspoken question clear enough.

Sam looks at Death, as if to ask for permission. Death nods minutely.

It irks Gabriel that Sam searches _Death’s_ permission, as if Gabriel isn’t actually the one who employed him and who’ll pay him at the end of each month; as if he could turn out to be a serial killer, when Death is not present, and not just another supernatural being with no intention to bring him any harm.

(That’s debatable, though, if he keeps up this charade.)

“Okay.” Sam nods.

Gabriel whirls around on his heels while he fishes the car keys from his suit trousers pockets and tosses them over his shoulder without even looking. The kid has good enough reflexes, it seems, because he catches them neatly.

“You know where the Detroit Airport is, right?”

“Of course I know,” he growls slightly, making it sound like a cat (tall; a tall cat) who is about to get into a fight with another cat, but for the sake of warning he hisses and does that rumbling sound in his chest to ward off the enemy.

(Only Sam didn’t do that; he sounded human enough.)

“Just checking,” he tosses over his shoulder as they enter the kitchen and then the pantry. “You’ll go first, I’ll follow.”

Which is unusual for him, but maybe he’s trying to make of this his own secret escapade. (Even if it’s just two hours long.)

They descend the stairs into the underground garage and make their way towards the far end of the vast space. Gabriel shows him the rented Mercedes-Benz SLK that Sam will drive and then sidles up to his little girl, Mercedes AMG GT S Coupé, a sleek, glossy white sport car. Delivered to his doorstep from the Brabus company in Germany last year.

The rental car is convertible, because he needed some fresh air to clear his head after the day he had yesterday, and Sam stops a few steps away, eyeing it with a mixed expression on his (hard angles, medium plump lips, high cheekbones, hazel eyes — no, green; make that something in-between; what even is this being he employed?) face.

“What is it with you and Mercedes?” Sam asks, tone midway between awed and exasperated.

“Problem?” Gabriel arches an eyebrow, but Sam is still looking at the convertible Mercedes to see the challenge in Gabriel’s eyes.

He shakes his head. “No, but it must have cost you a lot to rent it. And for what? A day?”

“Money isn’t a problem to me.”

Now Sam does look up at Gabriel, as if he just remembered who he was talking with. He doesn’t comment on Gabriel’s last remark (even if, for a second, he looked like he might), instead he gets inside the SLK. Sam drives the short distance towards a big platform. It will lift him above ground using an electronic hydraulic system that can support up to three tons. He had a crew from the Cardock firm come all the way from the UK to install it six years ago. He pushes a button on the wall opposite and goes to his car. He has a remote.

It’s a slow process, but within the next fifteen minutes they’re both out of the gates and on the highway.

It takes Sam a few tries to get used to the SLK, and Gabriel is patient enough to give him that time. But as soon as Sam pushes the gas pedal and the car puts some distance between them, Gabriel changes gears.

(Oh, it’s on!)

He’s pushed into his leather seat, when the hand of his speedometer climbs up as smoothly as his car approaches Sam’s (too much). But Gabriel has no intention of surpassing him, and the man seems to catch on to it, because he gives gas to the engine and the SLK effortlessly puts another few meters between them again.

The smirk Gabriel has is swiftly stretched into a grin; the kid keeps surprising him and pushing at the boundaries he’s put Sam within. Looking into his rear-view mirror, he finds no other car behind them.

Time to change gears again.

He gets on the second lain and wastes no time in matching Sam’s speed. They’re driving at one hundred miles per hour and the rush of adrenaline from speeding up way over the limit makes Gabriel feel like he’s on top of the world. There’s always something heady from breaking the rules.

Nothing could stop him right now.

On impulse, he turns his head to look at Sam and realizes what a mistake that is. There’s no trace of fear on his handsome, young face. Only pure, unadulterated glee, accentuated by the wide grin and the wild eyes that are looking straight at him, challenging him, daring him to… to—

In that moment, speedometer at one hundred, he feels a connection to Sam. Something he has no means nor the intention to put into words, because he knows it’s there, pulsing in time with his heart, coursing through his veins along the adrenaline; he feels it and that’s enough to make it true to him. He’s not sure if it’s the fact that he’s driving so fast or that Sam is enjoying his own rush of adrenaline just like Gabriel is, but it’s undeniable.

The connection is there.

( _undilutedpurestarkyoungunyielding_ )

He feels as if the wind has been knocked out of him, but his foot doesn’t lift from the accelerator nor has he any intention of slowing down.

Sam’s grinning like a lunatic back at Gabriel and Gabriel, never one to deny anyone their fun, least of all himself, matches the grin inch by delicious inch.

They keep this speed for another five or ten minutes, before the hanged boards warning them that Detroit is near makes Gabriel slow down and get on the lain behind Sam.

That was refreshing, and Gabriel doesn’t intend to deny it. He’s been starving for this kind of fun and he didn’t know it. Until now. Until this tall man, who is still a stranger in his books, showed Gabriel a side of him Gabriel didn’t think he had.

They get inside the rental company’s parking lot and Sam parks the SLK in front of the building. Gabriel snorts amused at the display of ownership and stops behind him, killing the engine and getting out of the car.

“You could have surpassed me,” Sam tells him, still grinning, and throws him the keys, much like Gabriel did back home (he catches them with ease). “Why didn’t you?”

Gabriel smirks. The kid is still running on adrenaline. “I said I’d follow you, and I did.” And gets inside to hand over the keys.

It’s a fairly quick process and in less than ten minutes he’s out of the door and into his car, Sam already in the passenger seat. He seems to have calmed down, that glint long gone, and doesn’t look in the mood to strike conversation.

Gabriel can wait.

He swerves into the traffic and turns on the radio; the streets are busier now than twenty minutes ago, which irks Gabriel, but he decides that it’s a good opportunity to get to know Sam. As it is, they’ll probably be home in an hour or more. And Gabriel has no intention of rushing this time.

Half an hour later they’re taking the highway and Sam is still silent at his side. The soft music playing on the radio does make up for good background noise, lessening the silence, but Gabriel’s foot moves impatiently under the wheel.

(No, he can’t wait.)

“Who are you?”

Among all the other questions that are going on in his head, that is the most impertinent one. He doesn’t curses himself. He wants answers, and answers he’ll get. One way or the other.

(At this point, though, he’s not sure what the other way could entail.)

He meets Sam’s gaze for a couple of seconds, before he returns it back to the road, surpassing a black Prius.

“What do you mean?” he asks neutrally.

He’s not surprised? Gabriel glances quickly at him.

“What I said.”

Sam lifts an eyebrow (sarcastically). “Well, if you aren’t more specific, I won’t know what you really want to know.”

“Are you a witch?”

Sam’s eyes look like they’re about to pop out of their sockets. He looks kind of hilarious like that. But this is not a Candid Camera conversation.

“What? No. Witch? How could I be? And isn’t that term used for women?” Sam scoffs and frowns. And a lot of other things Gabriel can’t concentrate on right now, because he’s regrouping.

If Sam’s not a witch, then—

“What are you?”

“A human?” he says, looking at him unimpressed.

Actually, he looks more like Death looks like when Gabriel is particularly obnoxious and doesn’t want to be the clever guy in the room or when he tries to avoid pointing out the big, rainbow elephant in the bathroom. Stupid analogy. Sam’s not Death. (By far.)

“Sorry, but weren’t you the one who employed me?”

Ah. If putting (pardon — _begging_ ) Rowena to write the contract, then signing it and sending it to Death to do with it what he wants to is called employing, then yes, he most certainly _did_ employ Sam.

“Was I present when you signed the contract? Or when you came to my house?” Gabriel asks back, giving Sam the same unimpressed look.

“No,” he says subdued, and turns his gaze ahead. “But you must have known about me before, otherwise how could have Death contacted me?”

Gabriel glances at Sam and then at the road in quick succession. “Sorry to burst your bubble, kiddo, but I knew nothing of you until this morning.”

“Oh.”

“And you have the strange notion that I _make_ Death do anything.” He glances at Sam to show him how much sarcasm he’s capable of adding to that sentence, using his expression only.

“Aren’t you?” The incredulousness on his face and tone should be downright stupid.

Gabriel barks out a short laugh, closing his eyes for a second or two.

“Oh, kiddo.” He sighs, returning to his little entertained smirk, eyes on the road. “You have no idea, do you?”

“About what?” He’s affronted.

“About Death.” Gabriel lifts an eyebrow, because it’s obvious. “I mean, _Death_. Rings any bells? Dude with a dark cloak, a scythe and eyes not meant for any living being?” he asks. “Oh, and don’t tell him I called him dude. He’s a refined man.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, more than you are,” he mutters.

“What was that?” But he heard it anyway. Still, teasing him proves to be too much fun to pass up. (Death never rises to his baits.)

“He told me who he was on our first meeting,” says Sam instead.

“Oh, yeah? And how did you take it?” he asks more seriously this time, even if he knows that Death wouldn’t have employed Sam, would he have had any reservations regarding the supernatural kind.

Sam laughs a little, shaking his head and making his hair fall and cover his face. Did he mention Sam’s hair? Smooth, chestnut, mid-neck long hair?

No?

Well, now he did. And he probably will continue to. When the opportunity will present itself again.

“As anyone who meets Death for the first time and it’s not because he came for your soul.”

“You do know that you’re the only human being on this entire planet who met Death in fairly domestic circumstances _and_ had the privilege to know who he was, right?”

Sam looks as if he just bit into a lemon. “Now I know.”

Gabriel laughs. (Again.) What? The kid’s reactions are too funny.

“So what did you say you were?” Gabriel asks quickly after his fit of laughter subdues, hoping he catches Sam off-guard and reveals to Gabriel his true nature.

Usually it works. Not with Sam, though.

“I’m a human, Gabriel,” he replies, annoyed, but then he clamps his mouth shut and looks at Gabriel horrified. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Milton.”

Gabriel scoffs and his foot pushes down on the accelerator. (Just to spite.) They were getting along so fine. Why’s formality always the problem?

“I told you to call me Gabriel,” he says with more vindictiveness than he should. He schools his features and softens his tone a bit, when he realizes it. “I don’t like formality in my home, and now you’re a part of it, which means that we’ll become more than just employer and employee. Friends, if you want to. So untwist your panties, kiddo. I’m not offended.”

Sam releases a short sigh of relief. What a strange man. Stressing over so little? He should descend from his skyscraper and live among mortals more often. (They seem to react differently than his kind.)

“So if you didn’t know about me, then how did Death—”

Gabriel sighs, but then purses his mouth. “To be totally honest with you, it was Death who called me a few weeks ago and told me that he needed a help around the house. I have a couple of people at my company whom I trust and who could have done whatever job it was required around my house, but he told me he specifically wants a human help and one I didn’t know. So I stipulated the contract and sent it to him.”

“You stipulated the contract?” Gabriel doesn’t like the question. Too much disbelief in there.

He glances at Sam. “Yeah.” A short pause. “Is it so hard to believe it?”

Sam chuckles and looks straight at him. “Somehow it is. I know I only just met you, but I’m still gonna go on a limb here and say that you don’t write your own contracts.”

Oh, this is getting interesting.

Gabriel arches his eyebrows in challenge. “Really?” Sam nods. “Then, do pray tell me, a humble being bowing at your feet,” he says with an exaggerated flourish of a hand, “what makes you believe I don’t write my contracts.”

His lips part slightly, as if ready to fire a comeback. One that would probably match Gabriel’s excessive way of phrasing that sentence (the sharp glimmer in his eyes and poised expression do attest to that). And Gabriel is ready to welcome whatever remark is about to take flight from behind those decently plump lips.

There is a big difference between Sam’s lips and his last one-night stand’s, Jason or Jack or Johnny (something starting with a ‘j’). His were obscenely full, trait all men and women of color seem to possess, and he looked like he was begging to be kissed senseless and bit into with hunger.

Which Gabriel did.

(Repeatedly. And with enthusiasm.)

Better not to rise ghosts from the past, though. Not when he’s in the company of a young man who appears to be every inch as delectable as his favorite dessert, even if his lips might not invite Gabriel to do something indecent to them.

But Sam seems to rethink his words, and says instead, “You own a company, right?”

“I certainly don’t clean the streets to pay the bills, although there’s nothing undignified about that.”

Sam rolls his eyes at him and Gabriel smirks. “If you own a company, then it’s obvious you’d have a secretary or someone within your firm who does that job for you.”

Ah, the things he had to ply her with to write that contract, because he needed it within the hour and she had to do ten other, more important things than to stipulate a human-creature domestic contract, where she couldn't just copy\paste the company's standard one, because the kind Gabriel needed was a bit different and had other things added besides the usual ones.

Gabriel’s smirk turns into a Cheshire cat’s grin. “No shit, Sherlock.” No point in going in circles, when the kid nailed it. Besides, they’re approaching his house.

Sam seems to sink into the leathered seat, making himself more comfortable, before he says in the most detached way possible, stretching the vowels on purpose, “Fuck you, Watson,” and Gabriel bursts out laughing. Because that, that right there is what wins Sam full points with Gabriel.

Sam joins him soon and they laugh like two men who just found out how good it feels to laugh, until Sam gasps for air and Gabriel forces himself to stop, because the road is swimming and he has to wipe his tears so as not to miss the exit that leads to his house.

He didn’t find out much about Sam, but he doesn’t feel like he wasted time and breath talking with him, either.

***

Sam is not as relieved as he thought he’d be to get out of Gabriel’s car when he kills the engine in his underground garage. He thought things would be awkward on the way back, because he was his employer and he seemed like an eccentric guy who didn’t meddle with the rest of humans, but then the conversation started with that odd question and everything went spiraling out of control from there.

He swears it was out of control up until he made that reference to Sherlock Holmes and he couldn’t keep his mouth shut and they dissolved into fits of laughter like school kids, and he actually managed to convince himself that it was all a dream.

But he’s here now, in Gabriel’s brightly-lit garage, Gabriel’s hound wagging his tail and looking with apprehension up at Sam. It doesn’t feel like a dream.

Sam blinks, eyes darting to meet Gabriel’s questioningly. But Gabriel is staring at his hound, his expression bordering on shock, but not quite.

He is, however, surprised to see his dog be all buddy-buddy with Sam. Why? Dogs are usually—

Oh.

Of course. Sighthounds form a special bond with their owner, and they’re reticent with strangers, because even if Sam is at the beginning of his third week of work, he’s still an outsider. Is this considered betrayal in Gabriel’s books?

He decides that Gabriel wouldn’t chop his head off, if he caresses his hound, scratching it behind one ear like he does right now, because he’s been dying to do that again ever since he first laid his hand on him. He loves dogs, but this is not his and, more importantly, its rightful owner is not even five steps away from them, appearing to be unsure if he’s awestruck in the good way, where he compliments his hound for making new friends, or awestruck in the bad way, where he’s seriously considering murdering Sam right there and then and never speak of it again.

But he snaps out of it.

Just like that, Gabriel Milton retakes his smirk from the depths of his shock and becomes a friendly, if odd, man once again, who told Sam rather vehemently to drop the ‘mister’ and use his birth name just like that.

“Well, well, I see you didn’t waste your time.”

No, not actually friendly.

That smirk looks plastered and frozen on his face, when Gabriel steps closer and his hound automatically moves to his side, begging the same kind of treatment it received from Sam. Gabriel complies just as automatically, but he doesn’t scratch it behind either of its ears.

“Are you secretly on a quest to conquer the world?”

Okay. Plastic smile paired with an odd question — that doesn’t bode well, at all.

“What? No, no.” He frowns. “I tried to befriend them when Death had to leave unexpectedly, but apparently only your hound accepted me. The other one still keeps away from me.” Gabriel snorts and seems to want to say something, but decides against it, so Sam continues. His employer is not entirely convinced about Sam’s intentions. “I love dogs. They’re loyal and stupid at times and just perfect cuddlers, and they never expect anything from you besides your companionship. These two, though, they’re—”

He deflates with an exhale, because every word that comes to his mind is not enough to encompass what Gabriel and Death’s hounds look and feel like to him, so he looks down at the Azawakh sitting on his hunches, totally in his own comfort zone near Gabriel’s leg, because maybe staring at the hound he’ll find that one, perfect word.

“They’re something else entirely,” he finally settles on, a soft smile directed at the hound. He probably understood that Sam’s talking about him, because his tail waggles happily on the cement floor.

Gabriel is silent for a couple of seconds. Sam keeps his eyes on the hound, fond smile still in place. His hands are itching to pat the Azawakh once again, but he wisely keeps his hands glued to his thighs. Better to not push his luck, when Gabriel is there and looking every inch the protective owner — no, _parent,_ that he is.

It’s silly, but jealousy unfurls like the tail of a peacock at the special bond Gabriel has with his hound.

“Glad we’re on the same page, kiddo.” His voice booms across the half-empty space, startling Sam into looking up at him.

Tendrils of an electric feeling curl beneath his skin when he locks eyes with Gabriel. It echoes the strange and powerful feeling he had when they were pseudo-competing on the highway. That moment when he met Gabriel’s gaze and felt — something there, between them, a breath away from flashing Sam with its truth.

Then, it was gone.

“Death didn’t tell me their names, though,” he says suddenly and Gabriel _beams_ at him.

He doesn’t shield his eyes, but it’s a near thing.

“He’s the proud male descendant of the Azawakh tribe, named —after none of his ancestors — Buck Naked,” Gabriel says with the most pleased and proud look on his face.

Sam’s smile falters. He swallows, lips twitching involuntarily. Is he kidding?

“Sorry, did you say Buck Naked?” This is ridiculous.

“Yeah, I did.” The smug smile is gaining power. “Why? Do you know him?”

Sam exhales, looking up at the ceiling. “Do I want to know the reason why you named your dog after a porn star?”

“Oh,” the smile turns lecherous, as he stretches the vowel, “someone’s intimately acquainted with Mister Naked’s works.”

“No.” Sam shakes his head. “Nope. I’m going back to work.” He does. Well, almost. He makes it to the stairs, at least. He turns halfway towards Gabriel. “You didn’t tell me the Saluki’s name.”

Gabriel still has that lecherous, far-too-smug smirk on his face as he approaches Sam, hound in tow. “Ah, that I can’t tell you.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a story behind her name that’s best if I leave it to Death to say it or not. She’s his hound, after all.”

Sam nods. That makes some sense, but also validates Sam’s suspicions about how far Gabriel’s respect for Death goes, and how complex it is. Because let’s be honest here, Gabriel is fully capable of throwing away every principle he has at a short moment’s notice, if it’s necessary; just like his hound could jump into a full on run within a few seconds. It’s not beyond Gabriel. A lot of things are not beyond him, Sam is starting to discover.

And now he finally got to know the dogs’ genders.

They start to climb the stairs, Sam two steps ahead.

“I’ll call him Bucky,” Sam says resolutely. It’s better than — the other option.

Gabriel’s step doesn’t falter and his voice reaches Sam just as firmly, “No, you won’t.”

Sam whirls around on the second-to-last step to look down at Gabriel. “Watch me.”

He doesn’t mean it to come across as a challenge, but he couldn’t soften the tone if he tried. For some reasons he isn’t even aware of, he can’t bring himself to call the poor creature _that_ name. It’s… it feels like such a sacrilege.

He shudders when he thinks that the Saluki could have been Gabriel’s hound instead of Death’s. She’s too majestic for—

The thought is ruthlessly pushed away.

Gabriel assesses him for a moment. “You’re asking for it, Sam,” he warns, but the entertained smile takes off the brunt of it. “Don’t push it or I’ll start calling you Captain Pants.”

“No, you won’t.” He crosses his arms and lifts his chin up a bit.

Gabriel smirks. “Watch me.” He fires back Sam’s snarky comeback and saunters past him with a ridiculous sway to his hips that totally gets to Sam. In the worst ways possible.

It takes Gabriel’s, “Coming — Captain Pants?”, caught on the notes of laughter to make Sam move.

Entering the kitchen, he finds Death seated at the table, a variety of dishes occupying most of the island kitchen right next to the cream table.

“Are we celebrating something?” Sam asks with a smile as he goes to the sink to wash his hands. There’s a lot of finger food on the table, so washing his hands isn’t just for the sake of the company.

“This is Gabriel’s order.”

Sam turns around to look at the dishes again, now that he has this new information. He folds the yellow hand towel once and places it next to the sink, thinking that Death might be actually joking. Gabriel can’t possibly eat all of that. Not even if he shares it with Death.

“This is a lot for two persons,” Sam says, taking a seat opposite the oldest being in creation. “Do you always eat this much?” And he can’t help the swift once-over he gives Death.

The entertained glint returns to his timeless eyes. “I assure you, we do not overindulge ourselves with this much food every day. There is enough for three people and you are still growing.”

“I’m twenty-seven!” Sam protests.

Death doesn’t bat an eyelid. “Still a child.” Sam scoffs and resists the urge to cross his arms and pout like the child that he most definitely _is not_. “You need sustainability. The day is not yet over.”

“Fine,” Sam grumbles unenthusiastic. He looks around the kitchen. “Where’s Gabriel? Isn’t he eating with us?”

Death takes a burrito from a nearby paper plate and transfers it into his own.

“He had to make a couple of phone calls. He will join us when he will have finished,” Death says, taking a bunch of French fries and adding them to the burrito. “Now, eat.”

Sam suppresses his chuckles, dipping his head as he starts to pile his own plate with food. “Bossy when I’m eating, too,” he murmurs, completely aware that Death is able to hear him.

“I never stop being bossy.” The notes of amusement are there in Death’s tone of voice and Sam just smiles in response.

He can’t catch any murmurs or noises from upstairs in the silence that befalls the kitchen, which means that the house has fairly thick walls. Or soundproof rooms.

“Do you regret taking this decision?” Death asks suddenly and Sam’s head darts up to look at him in surprise.

It takes him a bit to think about it, about his situation and decide what to say in regards. “No, I don't think I regret it. He seems an okay guy — as far as first meetings go.”

“He is,” Death affirms. “If you stay on his good side.”

Sam’s lips quirk upwards. “Is that a warning?”

“Only if you think of threatening his home and the people he cares about.”

Sam chews and swallows the bite of tortillas, before saying, “so… that’d be you.”

“And the hounds.” Death nods, looking sincere and serious at Sam.

“Not that you could kill me with a thought or the dogs could bite me, should I try anything.” He rolls his eyes. “I’m only a human. What kind of threat could I present?”

Death is silent for a moment. “He is protective of what is his.”

 _Yeah, well so am I_ , he thinks with an unfounded ire. He viciously bites into his tortillas, without meeting Death’s eyes. For some reason, knowing this about Gabriel irks him. Like when he cuts himself into the edge of a paper and the small cut continues to disturb him with its presence every time he moves that finger. It’s dull and weak, but present at the back of his mind.

There’s an undertone to the man that riles something up in Sam. Maybe it’s too early to blame anything on him, because they’ve known each other for a couple of hours only. But it’s undeniable. That feeling back on the highway: it clashed with Sam just like waves against rocks, heightening the rush of adrenaline.

It unsettles him. The man is capable of things Sam definitely can’t imagine, and he caught the strange glint in his eyes. There and gone in the next moment, but sharp and ready to strike. Now that he thinks about it, Gabriel might have held himself back around Sam.

“He is also childish at times, and stubborn. Capricious. Obnoxious and spiteful when the mood strikes.”

Death lists the traits in a neutral tone and Sam finds himself smiling. This feels too much as though Death is trying to lighten their conversation.

“And you will find unsavory magazines or books lying around.”

Sam snorts and shakes his head. Somehow, that doesn’t surprise him.

Sam is finishing his tortillas and is eying the chicken nuggets, when Gabriel joins them, all smirks and teasing comments. Directed at Sam, of course.

He’s just been promoted to Captain Pants, didn’t he?

***

It’s half past eight when Death tells him that he’s free to go home. Sam blinks owlishly up at him from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the soft rug in the sumptuous living room just opposite the kitchen. An L-shaped burgundy couch sits behind his back and the cornered coffee table supports all the instructions to how to connect Gabriel’s home cinema to the house’s Wi-Fi.

He asked Sam to do that, since the home cinema has been installed last week and Gabriel didn’t have the time to do it himself since he came back. He even said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, which was interesting to watch. It’s been his background music for the past half an hour or so.

The huge plasma TV hangs on the indented wall near the French doors, directly opposite the inviting couch. He had to turn his back to it or else he would have already been splayed over it and fast asleep.

“Already?”

He stretches his arms upwards, popping a few joints in the process. His eyes fall on the stash of porn magazines tucked into the pocket-like foot of the coffee table and he swiftly returns his gaze up to meet Death.

He wonders how did he not see them when he sat down.

“He has been home for less than three days,” Death says, lips keeping the smile in.

“Really? That’s his limit?”

He gets up and collects the instructions and turns off the plasma TV. Everything’s working as Gabriel wanted. He deserves a cookie.

“Wait. Do you handpick them personally when he leaves?”

“No, I hire a staff of seven to do it for me,” Death says and Sam feels his expression hardening into one of his so-called bitchfaces. Dean is creative when he’s in the mood. “Don’t be callous, Sam.”

“So you just — what? Snap your fingers and make them appear back at their designed place?” He’s too curious about the answer as they approach the front door.

“I certainly do not require the snap of either of my body parts to have the deed done.”

The glint in Death’s eyes is not entirely friendly and Sam finds himself swallowing.

“I’m suddenly glad I’m on your good side.”

The conversation is still reeling in his mind as he opens the door to get inside his car, when Gabriel’s voice interrupts him.

"Where are you going?"

He’s standing at the top of the stairs, thumbs hooked into what appears to be his jeans' pockets. It’s getting dark outside, so he can’t clearly make out what expression is on his face, but by the tone of voice he must be frowning.

Sam frowns from behind the opened door of his car.

"Home?" he says, unsure of what Gabriel means by that question.

"Why?"

Gabriel's tone is so confused, as if he really can't comprehend why Sam needs to go back to his apartment.

"To sleep?"

What's Gabriel up to?

"I know that," he says almost petulantly. "I asked you why do you need to go back there when there are plenty of rooms in my house you could use."

_Ah._

Sam glances at Death when he reappears in the doorway with the two hounds. Gabriel's comes to sit next to his leg. He doesn't make a move to caress him. Now, Sam has four pairs of eyes pointed at him and he honestly doesn't know what to do with this much attention all at once.

"That's my home, Gabriel," Sam explains patiently, keeping the patronizing tone at bay. "I have my things there, all my life. And I pay the rent. Don't you think I should make use of it if I need to pay money to live there every month?"

Gabriel turns his head around to look at Death. From the little Sam can catch, his expression might say something along the lines of, "is he serious?" or "help me?" or even "what kind of language does this insanely tall being speaks?". Anything is possible with Gabriel.

"Sam has been adamant to keep his life and job separated from the beginning," Death tells him, probably a hint of amusement in his eyes, but Sam isn't sure. It's getting darker and darker outside.

"You didn't tell me that," Gabriel mutters as he turns around to look at Sam. Sam lifts an eyebrow. "Okay," he sighs, as if it weighs on him to let Sam go back to his apartment.

Sam sketches a small smile.

"Goodnight, Gabriel."

The words carry out on phantom notes of laughter, which surprises Sam.

"Night, Sam," Gabriel says more softly.

He might be smiling, but Sam is already seated in his car and pulling the door closed.

 

"Where did you find him?" Gabriel asks, eyes on the fire in the hearth, but thoughts faraway. Then, after a handful of seconds, "he is perfect," Gabriel murmurs.

"You like him," Death notes conversationally.

Gabriel's gaze flickers up to meet Death’s darkness. "Don't be ridiculous." He frowns, then he looks back at the fire. "I am just — stating a fact."

"I am sure you are," Death says with the same glimmer of amusement in his voice, before disappearing.

Gabriel ignores his words. He leaves them floating around in the warm air, conscious of them, but not taking any to his heart. It'll pass. This sudden and baseless infatuation he might or might not have towards Sam will fade into the background, toppling into the recesses of his mind and he'll forget all about it in no time.


	3. Chapter 3

 

"How old are you?"

The question arrives unexpected to Death’s ears. He finishes securing the screw to the panel in silence, aware of the boy’s presence at his back. Sam tinkered around with the controls to the whole hydraulic system of the house because Gabriel complained about weak water pressure yesterday. Spoiled brat. They had to descend into the basement and spend nearly an hour finding the problem and fixing it to appease His Majesty’s lament.

Sam still looks up and down at him twice when he puts on casual clothes, as if he still cannot believe that he is capable of wearing anything other than a three-piece suit. Death finds it ludicrous. He certainly did not come into existence wearing a suit.

"Didn't anybody teach you to never ask a gentleman his age?"

He keeps his tone neutral, even though his lips quirk upwards for the briefest moment, unable to keep the smile at bay.

Sam chuckles as he puts the tools back into the red toolbox.

"Wasn't that the golden rule for the ladies?"

"I hear gender discrimination in your question, Sam.” Few things compete with the entertain Death gets from his and Sam’s conversations. “And here I thought you were a man of _principle."_

Sam smirks entirely too smug for his own good.

"I am — when I'm not too curious to know your age."

"Your end does not excuse your means."

The smirk turns into a grin so wide that Death believes it to be an inch or two away from splitting his face.

"True. Does that mean that I should have bought you dinner before asking the question?"

"I believe you should have. Usually a full stomach tends to soften the crude means you use to meet your end."

"With humans it usually does."

"Ah. Do I hear speciesism in there?" Death says with a comic arch of an eyebrow and sends Sam into a fit of rumbling laughter.

"Oh, God," he wheezes out, when the laugh subsides.

"God cannot hear you. He is on a trip to rediscover Himself."

"He is?"

"That is what He told me the last time we saw each other."

The next question Sam asks is not the predictable "what does He looks like?", but: "how long ago was that?" Death takes his time to overcome his surprise and think about the unusual question.

"I believe a couple of millennia."

Sam contemplates the answer for a few moments.

"Do you miss Him?"

Death meets Sam’s eyes and cannot read what he finds there.

"Why would I miss God? He is an old, vast being who pulled the light from the darkness and created life and everything you enjoy on Earth."

Sam shrugs. "From the way you talk about Him, it sounds like you were old friends." A pause, his gaze heavily contemplative. "Do you miss His company?"

"I do."

Death does not regret how fast those words spilled from his mouth because it is true. He misses having an equal. Sam is good company, more than he could ask of the humans and the supernatural kind alike, but sometimes even he is not good enough.

The young man looks around the basement.

"You feel lonely here, even with the two hounds to keep you company."

"I miss conversation, Sam," he says, a tinge of sadness in his tone. "I miss someone with whom I can talk to and have an answer back. Not always — I do not seek a talking machine — but often enough. Hounds, as you may know, are not great conversationalists."

Sam's smile is reflected in his eyes. Death knows he can relate; not long ago Sam found himself in the same situation. In this aspect, they come close to be kindred spirits.

"Well, at least now you have me."

He deliberately lets a small amount of cheekiness to pour into his tone as he avoids Death’s piercing gaze on purpose. He’s hiding the smile.

"Sometimes, your snark shows up at the most inopportune moments," Death comments, but it is not without a light note to his tone. "I wonder who you took that from."

"My brother," Sam responds automatically, longing and fondness fighting in his dark eyes. "My older brother. He's a concentrated mass of snark and smart retorts, which can be an ordeal to live with when you're the type of person who is easily offended. Lucky me that I'm a fast learner. Unfortunately, some of his personality traits rubbed off on me along the way."

Sam grins like a five-year-old brat who stuffed his mouth with all the chocolates he received. Death regards him contemplatively for a couple of seconds. He moves towards the stairs when the silence becomes uncomfortable for Sam.

“I do not find those traits unfortunate.”

His voice echoes off the walls and Sam’s heart hitches.

They do not speak of his brother again that day.

 

It is not until later that week that Gabriel and Sam have their first argument and Death’s suspicions are proved right. They have a lot of rough edges that clash harshly with one another; so many different ideas that do not compliment the other; so much depth to both their knowledge that arguments are impossible to keep at bay.

Their strong willpower is enough to create dangerous sparks when neither backs off without arguing his case first.

Gabriel storms out of the recreational room, situated on the same hallway that leads to his extensive library and the back veranda. He takes the stairs two at a time, his hard thuds echoing on the marble stairs, and slams the door to his chambers.

A moment of deafening silence follows, until Sam appears in the doorway and sighs a long-suffering sigh as he closes the door with a more delicate touch.

“Coffee is ready,” Death informs him from where he stands in the middle of the main hallway.

The befuddlement is almost palpable on Sam’s face.

“I didn’t—”

“It is not up for debate.”

Death learned early in their relationship that he sometimes needs to take away the options from Sam’s hands because politeness and over-thinking are always big factors in his decisions. And to prove his point, Sam follows Death in the kitchen without further ado and takes a seat on one of the two high stools at the kitchen island. His shoulders are slumped and he does not look up at Death once.

The silence is tense and troubled as Death fills two mugs with freshly made coffee. He is curious to learn the reason why they argued, but he is in no hurry. Sam is still unsettled.

“I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” he mumbles as Death places one of the mugs in front of him.

“There are a lot of things you humans need to keep silent about, but you do not,” Death says matter-of-fact. “Sometimes I find it endearing, but then I have to collect the soul.”

That gets Sam’s attention and Death has to offer a small smile to lessen the gravity of what he just said. He probably should talk more often about his role on Earth, so Sam can get used to it when he will inevitable bring it up into their discussions.

But then he would deprive himself of this entertainment.

Sam shakes his head minutely and his gaze finds his mug once again. “He’s frustratingly stubborn,” he says almost venomously, but Death detects traces of fond exasperation, “and with that silver tongue of his he gets on every single one of my nerves.” It might be too early in their relationship to call it fondness, though.

They are still testing each other’s limits. And as always, Gabriel does not stop when he goes beyond them.

“Yet you managed to infuriate him. No small feat, I assure you.”

Gabriel has a lot of patience, despite what most people think. It is not entirely their fault, if they all come to the conclusion that Gabriel is an impatient, hyperactive man. Gabriel likes to place false behavioral traits into people’s minds by acting the way he does to keep his element of surprise intact.

He is actually an experienced strategist and an experienced judge of character, but few know this about him. Even among his family’s members Gabriel is known to be the soul of a party and nothing serious to his name. Yet he owns a profitable company and he never once let it come even close to bankruptcy, even though he took it from the brink of it not two centuries ago.

Sam smiles acerbically. “He called me thickheaded.” Death’s mouth twitches. “And I called him a stubborn mule.” Sam grins with satisfaction.

“You did not say what you argued about.”

“Art. It actually started as a simple conversation between two connoisseurs of art and soon it turned into an argument over why _The Nightmare_ is such a good painting, in his opinion, and why it is not, in mine.”

“Any winner?” Death asks with nonchalance. He would like to know if he should prepare himself to tease Gabriel without remorse for the foreseeable future.

“Just a draw.”

“Pity.” It actually is.

Sam grins into his mug, before sipping more coffee. “I don’t dislike Fuseli’s _The Nightmare_ . In fact, I find the _chiaroscuro_ technique quite interesting, but the whole Gothic period left me feeling queasy. It’s grotesque and crude. And I never liked it when I had to study it in Art school.” He grimaces, then he gives a cursory glance around the kitchen.

“Yet it is during that period of time that humans took into consideration the supernatural more often than not,” Death muses. “Four centuries after, the creatures you were so afraid of and about which you speculated so much, became a visible part of your society.” A contemplative pause, during which Death stares into Sam’s eyes. “Cohabitants.”

“Yeah, thank you for refreshing my memory. History was never my forte,” Sam says, not quite acerbic.

A lull befalls their conversation, time which Sam uses to finish his coffee. Tiredness clings to him like a loving cloak, but Death knows that Sam gets enough sleep and nutrition to sustain their daily activities. That includes Gabriel’s sometimes pretentious tasks and obnoxious presence.

Still, he is reluctant to allow Sam to leave, especially after seeing the way he fights with himself to not shuffle his feet on the marble floor. He should have made a stronger brew.

Sam stops a step away from the front door and turns around, just as Death decides to convince Sam to spend the night there. The young man looks first behind Death, at the marble stairs, and then at Death himself.

“Should I apologize?” he asks quietly, a dull, tired glint in his eyes emphasized by the hallway’s lamps.

Death studies his expression. “Only if you think you were wrong.”

Sam’s mouth twitches into a barely-there smile, before walking out of the door.

“Why did you let him leave?” Gabriel asks from halfway down the stairs where he remained just as Sam was closing the door.

“Should I have stopped him so you could apologize?” Death turns to regard him with a cool stare.

Gabriel visibly winces and descends the last steps without much conviction.

They move back into the recreation room where the argument took hold. The walls still retain some of the tension of the previous conversation as well as echoes of anger-laden words. But everything is faint, slowly dissipating into the air and Death can’t make out any words any more.

“What really happened here, Gabriel?” He is truly curious about it. “You do not lose your composure so easily and over an argument such as this. I have seen you navigate with more tact ruder and more serious discussions than what you had with Sam.”

Gabriel sighs and bends down on one knee to throw three logs into the dying fire. When he stands up and looks at Death, his shoulders are slumped in defeat and resignation.

“He actually made me lose my cool.”

Death does not even school his surprised features into something less open than they are right now. Gabriel rolls his eyes and moves over to the cherry tree desk to pour himself some whiskey; Death elects to let the rude gesture pass.

“It sounds stupid coming from me, but that’s the truth I can’t even ignore.” He downs half of the crystal glass, but does not turn to look Death in the eye again. “I did everything in my power to not lose it, but damn it if the kid isn’t infuriatingly stubborn — and clever.” His hand tightens around the glass for a moment, before it relaxes. “The worst part of it all is that I loved _every_ damn minute of it.”

“Then why did you leave?”

Gabriel chuckles humorlessly. “Why indeed.”

He finishes the rest of his drink without offering further information.

It is possible that Gabriel doesn’t know the answer to that question himself.


	4. Chapter 4

 

Surprisingly, Gabriel apologizes two days later for his behavior, and Death actually pauses from savoring his morning coffee, curious about this unusual occurrence. Sam is perplexed for a couple of seconds, unsure if Gabriel is joking or not, but Sam does not know that right there and then Gabriel exceeds his own limit of seriousness, even if he does so reluctantly.

It is hard for him to apologize for how he behaves with others, used as he is to not care at all, when it is not Death he is dealing with. Yet, this is his own home, and, as a rule Gabriel himself established, no one is superior to anyone. But that was when Gabriel and he moved here. Now, with Sam in the equation, Gabriel finds himself off-kilter. The young man is still somewhere between a stranger and someone who Gabriel accepts as belonging with him in his own house.

It is most probably what made him decide to apologize to Sam and see where that takes them, even though Death notices how much it pains him to do so.

Sam accepts Gabriel’s apology without much conviction, which tells Death a lot about Sam’s view of his role there. This is where Death should intervene because things must be said clearly if they want to overcome each other’s barriers, but it is also a somehow delicate situation, a wobbly balance they are maintaining now.

With Gabriel’s apology laid bare for Sam to pick and prod however much he wants, they return to a precarious status quo.

Death finds it entertaining to watch them test the waters around each other, more so when it is Gabriel doing it. He is impatient to know all about Sam, but at the same time he is conscious that that kind of desire can so easily be seen as invasive and rude.

Then, there is Gabriel’s hunger that builds up so subtly he does not realize it.

What Death actually likes about this is that Gabriel, as impulsive and ruthless as he may be in similar circumstances, does not dare lose everything he has gained until now with Sam just to satisfy his whimsical desires.

Gabriel is intrigued by Sam and Death does not need to read his mind to know that he is frustrated that a human, of all beings, triggers his curiosity, especially when Sam appears to be a man of simple principles.

Not even Death knows where this tentative relationship will lead. It makes it all the more interesting to watch.

They enter the recreational room once again that evening, but this time Death is invited, too, along with the two sighthounds. They each sit near their respective owners on the shaggy cream rugs on which armchairs are positioned. Death caresses her head languidly from the tufted, burgundy chair near the chaiselong right next to the door. It is a 17th century Haute House Antoinette tufted chair, unique for its deep red color.

The only memory Gabriel took from his old home, affirming with a flutter of his hand that he liked the model.

But Death knows that he took it just because it was the only piece of furniture in the entire castle that Death could be seen sitting on of his own volition.

Sam has a question poised on the tip of his tongue when he sees Death’s dog. Yet, Gabriel steals his attention when he passes by to pour them each a drink, gaze landing on the bronze statue on the pedestal behind Gabriel’s desk.

As if the statue possesses a magnetic field, Sam is drawn swiftly towards it, eyes roaming over every inch of it with reverence. Gabriel sees it after he brings Death his drink, a tall glass of Cabernet Sauvignon.

“Kali,” Gabriel offers neutrally, handing over Sam’s drink.

Death inhales the wine’s perfume, before taking a sip. It has been more than two centuries since he last heard Gabriel say that name. Eyes inscrutable, he watches as the two interact. Gabriel leaves an easy gap between them, through which Death is able to see half of the statue, but also most of their expressions.

Gabriel keeps his body language open and expression mostly neutral, even though he would like nothing more than to ruthlessly cut the topic short before it goes where he does not want it to go.

He is big enough to realize that he will not be able to ignore it for all eternity.

“It’s beautiful,” Sam murmurs, unable to keep from touching the bronze sculpture, fingertips grazing over the statue’s head, sliding down over its arms and then legs. “Yet disquieting.”

“In Hindu religion, she’s the Dark Mother, an aspect of the goddess Durga, fierce and ruthless with those who harm her children,” Gabriel explains, smiling down at the sculpture, no doubt recalling certain memories.

Sam looks up at him questioningly and Gabriel shrugs.

“I’ve spent some time in India.”

Almost half a century. Nobody knew where he had been during all that time, but as with anything concerning Gabriel, Death has learned, he seldom announces his departure or arrival.

“This was a gift from my friend’s father.”

Death’s eyes narrow. That is a detail he had not been privy to. He always thought that he bought it from one of the few art exhibits he went to that his company sponsors.

“You must be good friends,” Sam says with a small smile.

He has no idea what old wound he is scratching at.

“She died,” Gabriel says quietly, expression darkening.

That comes as a surprise to Death. He wouldn’t have thought Gabriel would openly talk about Kali to someone he still knows so little about. The sourness of her death mares his features, even as he glances up at Death.

To Sam’s credit, he does not ask how she died. Gabriel does nothing to conceal the amount of sadness he still feels for her death. At least his anger has turned into something more subdued.

“Oh,” Sam exhales. “I’m sorry.”

Gabriel turns away from the sympathetic look on his face and pours himself a glass of scotch.

“Well, I might have the power to order people around, but death is still an ability that eludes me.”

The smirk is full of holes when he turns around. Even Sam is not fooled by it.

The remark is directed at Death, meant to bait him into the conversation, but Death knows it is a poor excuse of putting the topic at their backs. Too bad for Gabriel that Death has already decided to be just a spectator this evening.

 _Clean your own mess_ , he conveys through the sheer power of his gaze alone.

Gabriel scoffs, as he always does when Death refuses to do his bidding.

“Anyway, you should see the Weeping Angel back in my old home.” Gabriel moves towards the fireplace. “It’s taller than me by ten or fifteen inches and creepy as hell.”

Not entirely true, but Death has no concept of what fear feels like. He found the statue mediocre at best. Angels are energy, not matter, yet Death finds it worth his attention to discover how complex and complicated a human’s mind can be and how much value they give to their senses when they translate the abstract and genderless into the physical plane just to bring concepts closer to something they can understand and relate to.

That angels could choose to descend into a consenting human body is an entirely different story.

“You must’ve been terrified by it when you were a kid, then.” Sam smiles, allowing Gabriel to change the subject.

Gabriel freezes and Death keeps in an entertained smile. He does not seem to be able to start a safe topic this evening. Will he tell Sam that he came to live with his brothers when he was already an adult, almost a century before Death became a part of the household, more so than Sam is right now?

Once again, Gabriel glances at Death.

He will not help him with anything this evening. He is big enough to salvage the conversation from turning on him.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Sam leaves his drink on the desk and sits down on one of the two armchairs, positioned near the fireplace. He is half turned from Death’s line of sight, but still within it to allow him to read his expression. Gabriel follows him shortly after.

“You don’t have fond memories of your childhood home.”

Sam caresses Gabriel’s hound when he comes to beg for attention. Gabriel watches the scene like a hawk, eyes glinting in the crackling fire.

He takes a sip of his scotch.

“You can say that.”

Sam sighs and leans back in the armchair, eyes assessing Gabriel. They succumb to a deep hazel in the soft light of the fire, coming closer to Gabriel’s color than he has ever seen it.

One corner of his mouth curls ever so slightly upwards when Gabriel resists squirming. Death takes another sip of his wine.

“And you don’t like to talk about it,” Sam concludes calmly.

“Jackpot, kiddo.” The smirk appears malicious. “Are you training to be the next shrink America doesn’t need?”

Classic Gabriel move. When his back approaches the fateful wall, sarcasm is his only armor.

“No, Gabriel, I’m just trying to know you better,” Sam explains honestly.

Gabriel never let himself be fooled so easily by well-meaning phrases like the one Sam used. Now, however, he is making an effort not to. Too bad that Sam is unaware of how many buttons he is pushing, simply by being who he is.

“Don’t they all say that?”

Sam’s expression shifts, from open and genuine to a moue of annoyance. Gabriel ignores it completely. When people strike too close to home, he tends to become irrational.

They regard each other in silence, until Sam sighs and looks down at Gabriel’s hound.

“Okay, I won’t prod. I understand that there are certain things from your past that you aren’t comfortable sharing,” Sam says like a true professional, only there is too much emotion infused in his words. “At least not with me. I understand. I'm your employee, after all.”

“Amen,” Gabriel snarks back like the obnoxious brat that he likes to be when the moment does not call for it, and a shadow passes over Sam’s face.

He is out of his chair before anyone, except Death, can read the intention on his features.

“You know what, Gabriel,” Sam grits out, fists clenched at his sides and expression thunderous, “you can _shove_ it!” And he turns on his heels, takes a moment to nod politely at Death and then exits the room, not unlike Gabriel did a couple of days before.

Sam closes the door behind him, though.

Death turns an arched eyebrow at Gabriel and what he knows is an unimpressed expression on his face. He really is. Unimpressed. Gabriel could have controlled himself better than that.

“What? I told you he riles me up in the most unsexy ways possible!” he says in lieu of admitting that he went too far. Once again.

 

It’s easier for Gabriel to fight with Sam and give either one of them an excuse to leave the room than being honest.

(Honest implies vulnerability and Gabriel never works well with vulnerability.)

He knows fear and he likes his snarky self. He’s intimately acquainted with anger, and being ruthless and arrogant are more of required abilities in the world of sharks (pardon, _businessmen)_ than anyone cares to explain. He also makes frequent use of his devious mind, and shams are something of his personal signature.

He’s never been completely honest about himself with anybody. Not even Kali.

They say that old wounds never truly heal; they either fester or turn into scars. Kali turned into a scar hidden under centuries of covering the memory with new ones and generally just pretending it’s never there, in the darkest depths of his mind.

(But it is. She never really fades away from his memory.)

Yet Sam — Sam fits right through the cracks. He doesn’t know (and Gabriel is not in a hurry to tell him), but Gabriel never met someone who could unravel him with so much ease. He doesn’t even _make_ an effort and he succeeds nonetheless. It’s both frustrating (because he doesn’t know how to put a stop to it) and exhilarating (finally, someone who’s a natural at getting under his skin).

But mostly frustrating.

(And the hunger grows stronger each day that passes.)

So yes, fighting with him is the easiest way out of something Gabriel doesn’t even dare imagine. (Or grasp.) Sam feels like a mistake Gabriel won’t want to back away from, and even if it’s true that he never shied away from making mistakes (they actually stimulate him), Sam is not the kind he could twist and turn the way it fits him.

The familiar waft of ink, leather and unlived (even if both he and Death spend a lot of quality time in there) envelops him as he pushes open the door to his library, but he stops short in his tracks.

Sam Winchester is splayed on the spacious couch made entirely of thick, wide and multicolored cushions, pushed into a rectangular space, thirty inches below the ground level. A book (whose title or author Gabriel can’t read from where he’s grown roots and infiltrated the ground so that he couldn’t move even if he wanted to) lays open on his chest as his head lolled slightly to one side at one point or another, leaving his neck completely vulnerable.

(Whatever he wanted to imply with that last thought Gabriel chooses to simply ignore it.)

Buck brushes against his thigh and he automatically goes to scratch his dog’s head, only to find empty air. His hound walks straight to where Sam sleeps and curls around him, his muzzle on the bent arm that keeps the book on Sam’s chest.

It’s not such a surprise that his hound warmed up to Sam, when the man is always present in the house and gladly offers his attention and love to the sighthound.

(It still stings to know that Buck’s affections stretched towards Sam, too.)

What truly shocks Gabriel is the sight of Death’s hound sauntering in her elegant gait towards the same couch and curling on Sam’s other side, resting her muzzle on his thigh with a long-suffering sigh and making the scene appear so damn domestic.

Sam didn’t even twitch at the two additional weights, which brings Gabriel to the conclusion that this is not the first time that it happened.

That’s it.

Who the hell did Death hire?

He leaves Sam and the two hounds sleeping in the library and makes his way into the recreational room where he knows for sure that Death will be present (besides knowing that he likes to spend his time there).

“Is he a witch?” he asks Death without preamble (and a bit of grumbling).

He doesn’t comment on the amused glint that peeks into Death’s eyes at Gabriel’s question.

“He is merely a human.”

“Bullshit!”

Death’s features turn somber. The silence is every bit as ominous as he feels it.

Gabriel glances quickly and apologetically at him. “Sorry. Still, he can’t be _just_ a human! When did you last see Mist _snuggling_ with somebody? She never did that.”

“Maybe she found something in Sam we are not seeing,” Death muses aloud, eyes staring into the mid-distance. “Or maybe his charm touched Mist’s pretentious heart and your hound’s warm, if guarded one.”

“Sorry, but didn’t you say he’s just a human? How can a human possibly do that?”

“An intelligent, kind, perceiving and polite human.”

Gabriel throws him a look. “Who’s the one that likes him, again?”

Death smiles one of those smiles Gabriel translates as _ah-you’re-still-a-child-Gabriel._

“I never said I disliked him.”


	5. Chapter 5

The soft breeze caresses the cream curtains pulled apart to let some fresh morning air into the recreational room. The days start to get warmer and warmer as the spring approaches, but there have been showers often enough to look at sunny days with suspicion.

Gabriel doesn’t care much if it’s nice or rainy outside. He has a couple of things to take care of first, before he lets anything else catch his attention.

Meg was making progress on that CEO he had put her skills on a couple of months back, but she found herself at a stalemate right now and requiring further orders. Gabriel was torn between telling her to risk her undercover to get more information and telling her to stay put and wait for it to come to her.

She’s the best Gabriel could have hired and she does have reliable teammates to pull her out of nasty situations should she require it. They’re Gabriel’s eyes and ears in the underground world. Everything newspapers and tabloids aren’t able to catch, Gabriel can pen in a sentence with the information he needs and Meg and her team will take care of the rest.

He only meets her at the end of each mission, because he likes to have a face-to-face report rather than an envelope or an encrypted email. In this day and age, information is precious and she won’t risk having the envelope or email intercepted by curious eyes, no matter if Gabriel is exclusively their only contractor. For the type of shady business Gabriel requires their skills, it’s better this way.

They most probably have other types of income, a life outside in the open to avert suspicions. He doesn’t particularly care as long as the job is seamlessly done by the end of the day.

There’s never such a thing as too demanding or too cautious, in Gabriel’s books: he’s satisfied with nothing but the best.

He types in to stand by for the next 24 hours, then act as she sees fit if nothing happens in the meantime. The clacks of his keys fill the room as he responds to other pending emails from business friends from across the world, but as he’s typing an email to Rowena, strange sounds filter in from just outside his window.

He frowns even as he doesn’t stop hitting the keys, and then something shifts in his peripheral vision and his eyes dart away from his laptop’s screen to see the low curve of what looks eerily like Death’s car. Soon enough, Sam appears on the other side of it with a big sponge in one hand.

Oh, just Sam washing Death’s car.

His typing speed resumes. Nearing the end of his email, he glances to his left once again (out of pure curiosity, nothing else) just to take in the white, almost transparent undershirt glued to his skin, muscles stretching over his strong arms and back, and the almost soaked denim, when he comes nearer to the window and bends _just so_ to sponge off the trunk of the car.

He returns his gaze back on the screen, reluctantly so, to discover a handful of mistakes in his last sentence. He groans softly and rectifies them. This is all Sam’s fault, he thinks heatedly as he finally sends a coherent email to his PA.

He closes the lid of his laptop and goes to the window. Sam moved along on the house’s side in the meantime and Gabriel props himself up on the ledge to watch as Sam takes care of Death’s darling with the respect and care she deserves. Or what Death would expect of those he hands her over.

Sam is humming something under his breath, a song that sounds very familiar. It takes Gabriel a few seconds to put a name to it. Mercury’s _Living on my own_. Sam takes the hose and lifts it up so that he can rinse away the foam. For a couple of seconds Gabriel listens to the sound of water hitting metal and sluicing down the white curves of the car along with Sam’s humming. It doesn’t take long for him to notice Gabriel.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just stealing glances every now and then, which Gabriel meets unabashedly. And with a grin.

“Nice day,” Sam says almost too softly for Gabriel to catch up. But he’s not exactly human.

His lips thin, the laughter pushing up from his stomach. “It sure is from here.”

Sam stares at him as he makes his way towards the back of the car, and then dips his head and shakes it. Gabriel catches the peak of a smile. (Soft, barely there.)

“If you’re searching for Death, he’s out,” he motions with his chin towards the back yard, but Gabriel knows that he means the wide stretch of land behind his property, “letting the hounds burn some stamina.”

“And you’re on washing duty,” Gabriel comments, eyes following Sam’s every move. There’s something alluring about how Sam moves, almost hypnotic.

The hunger spasms deep in him. He ignores it. He still can.

“I offered.”

Ever the Samaritan, Gabriel thinks, but says instead, “how kind of you.”

“Well, it’s my job. That’s what I’ve been hired to do.”

It stops Gabriel short. The breeze slides through the trees, unsettling the leaves, chilly on Gabriel’s fevered skin. The control over his body temperature is starting to slip away from him. He ignores that, too. Sam doesn’t notice Gabriel’s change of mood.

“I wouldn’t have pegged Death to be a white color type of person, though,” Sam continues unaware of anything.

Gabriel places his elbows on the ledge, his mood improving.

“What kind of guy did you think he was, then?”

Sam shrugs, but doesn’t meet Gabriel’s eyes. “A black color type of guy?” Gabriel releases a short bark of laughter and Sam rolls his eyes. “I know, it’s presumptuous. But he gives this—strange vibe, like he’s made of all these mysteries and unknown, incomprehensible things. And now that I know him, I’m pretty sure I’m closer to the truth than I can fathom.”

The grin remains on Gabriel’s face effortlessly. “He does look gloomy when he’s all dolled up to go out.”

Sam chuckles and shakes his head. “No, he’s not gloomy.”

An eyebrow climbs an inch or two on Gabriel’s forehead. “Oh? Then how does he look like?”

The crease between Sam’s eyebrows as he makes an effort to find the proper words to explain shouldn’t make him look more delectable than he already is (creases and eyebrows have nothing to do with any kind of appetite), but the stab of hunger puts a hitch in his breath.

“He’s classy,” Sam exhales. “He wears black like it’ll never go out of fashion. Like it was made for him. There’s a defining and peculiar elegance when he’s all dressed in black and with that cane added to his repertoire… I don’t know. He looks unreachable, above everyone else, distinct, and gentlemanly. He gives me the impression that if I would go up to him and ask for his help he would help me.”

“You’ve been thinking a lot about Death,” Gabriel points out, traces of bitterness catching in his tone of voice.

It makes Sam snap his head up, a confused look on his face. “It’s not… I’ve not… it’s just the kind of impression he gives me.” He frowns. “You don’t have to get angry over it.” He says it with suspicion, like he’s not sure if he’s right or not.

Gabriel scoffs. “Angry? Why should I be? Over what?” he asks, but Sam’s suspicious look doesn’t lessen, which prompts Gabriel to roll his eyes. “Oh, get over yourself. You still have half a car to dry and we’re eating in half an hour.”

His blood is roiling in his veins, heartbeat erratic and breathing uneven. He only exited the room and already he fights with himself to get his control back.

 

“So let me get this straight.”

Of course Sam has a hard time getting his head around what Gabriel just told him (not everyday one gets to know the great Gabriel Milton’s personal assets). Gabriel smirks up at Sam, even though the man can’t see him, focused on the chopping board as he is.

“You have a private beach and a two-storey house, your own company, a luxurious mansion, _Death_ —is there anything you _don’t_ have?”

 _You_ , but he keeps his lips shut over that word. It’s too early for that kind of confessions.

“Probably the world at my fingertips,” he waggles his fingers, grinning, “although I’m getting there, _slow_ and _steady._ ”

Sam’s so far from convinced, Gabriel might want to revisit his acting skills. (But then again, he was looking for this specific reaction.)

“There is something I don’t have.” Sam waits for him to continue. “I’m still not sure if I truly want that something or if that something _wants_ me.”

Sam snorts. “If it _wants_ you?” he mimics. “What kind of object are we talking about here?”

Gabriel grins. Oh, how he likes it when people read him wrong.

“Not an object, but something far more precious and worth patiently waiting for.”

The chopping stops and Gabriel meets his gaze head-on, just like he’s used to with anybody who might try to argue back.

 _He isn’t—won’t; Sam’s safe_ , his gut feeling tells him, even as Sam doesn’t back away from the non-verbal challenge Gabriel issued.

“And you won’t tell me what this something-that-is-not-an-object is, right?” It doesn’t sound much like a question.

Gabriel’s smile breaks into a toothy grin. “You know me so well, Sammy-boy.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

“Aw, give yourself more credit, kiddo.” Gabriel coos dramatically. “You’re more shrewd than you let on.” He winks.

Sam shakes his head with an amused expression. “You overestimate me.”

“I wonder,” he says softly, gaze gliding lazily over Sam’s face.

The glint in his eyes completely bypasses Gabriel’s attention when Sam glances up. “It might be in your best interests to get used to the notion that you don’t know everything.”

It takes Gabriel a bit ( _damn_ that jaw), but he catches on eventually. The surprise is followed by indignation and then theatrical outrage; all in close succession, no split second spared.

"You heathen!" (No, he really isn’t, but the mischievous glint is hard to ignore, now that it’s highlighted by the grin.)

He passes Sam another tomato, because apparently drop-dead gorgeous comes with a lot of maintenance. Of the vegetables variety. He looks at the cucumbers and the tomatoes, two mandarins and an avocado. At least there’s toasted bread and bacon on the menu. (Thank any bored deity out there for small mercies).

He wouldn’t define himself as picky when it comes to food, but there is food he likes and food he doesn’t. Simple as that.

Sam snorts a short, entertained laugh. "That's all you've got, Mr. I'm-so-important-the-earth-moves-around-only-because-I-allow-it?"

As far as insults go, even Gabriel must admit that that’s a bit too childish even for Sam. His lips quirk up in the same way they always do when he is amused, though. Sassy Sam is something he doesn’t see every day.

"You need to work on your insults, kiddo. They're becoming rather long."

"I like them extensive.” He cuts the avocado into small cubes and throws them into the bowl. “They encompass many more issues than, say, _heathen_."

"Oh, he bites!" He takes out the toasted bread and places the slices on the two plates. "I didn't know that allowing Earth to move around would be an issue with you. Should I stop it? Is it making you dizzy?"

Sam chuckles and shakes his head. "I don't even know how I can fit in here. Your ego is beyond inflated."

Gabriel smirks. "I have a big appetite." He emphasizes his words by rubbing his stomach and Sam's eyes remain there for a few moments longer.

"Can't argue with that, when you always order food as if you need to feed a herd of elephants."

"Which, might I add, you help finish it with enthusiasm."

"Oh, don't you dare turn this on me."

“I know, I know. The truth always bites. Hard.” Gabriel grins.

Sam just shakes his head in that way that makes his hair flop around. Really, sometimes the resemblance between a dog and him is uncanny. And he’d know, he’s the proud owner of a stunning sighthound.

They assemble their lunch and Gabriel has to admit that it looks mouth-watering. The two slices of toasted bread are placed on one side of his plate, spread out to look like a small, brown fan and when Sam places a heap of his special salad on the bed of bacon — Gabriel personally fried — he can’t wait to dig into it.

“Go on,” Sam says encouragingly and when Gabriel meets his gaze, he realizes that Sam’s been staring at him with this kind of childish excitement this whole time.

Never one to be told twice, Gabriel picks up his fork and eats. The first forkful is an explosion of tomatoes and mandarins with a side of salad to balance the flavors out. The second one is an unexpected slide of a knife between his ribs, the bland taste of the avocado enveloping the salty bacon without overpowering it. He twists that knife between his ribs when the crunchiness of the bacon meets the cucumber and salad.

What an adventure.

“What?”

Sam’s been staring at him again. Or continued. He’s not sure the boy even looked at his own (untouched) lunch yet. (Not that Gabriel minds this kind of undivided attention; he is, after all, an attention whore.)

Sam averts his eyes. (A whine is pushed down with the chewed food.)

“Nothing. It’s just that you eat like a human, but Death said that you aren’t, so I was just wondering _what_ are you.”

A smarmy smile appears on his lips. (Something primal purrs inside of him.)

“Oh, Sammy boy, wouldn’t you want to know.”

Sam rolls his eyes and finally begins to eat. “I still don’t understand why you are so secretive about it. Death told me when we first met.”

“Well, Death’s not fond of aliases, and even if his name _could_ pass as one at a push, he gets his kicks from seeing your expression when you realize he’s not kidding.”

Sam chews on the bite, staring at Gabriel; he swallows. “So?”

Gabriel grins. “You don’t have the security clearance for that kind of information.”

Sam sighs. “You know I’ll find out sooner or later.”

“Of course I know, kiddo, I’m not stupid. But not now.”

“Why not?”

Gabriel swallows the food. “Because PWP.”

“What’s PWP?”

He grins again, but this time it’s lecherous. “Certainly not porn without plot.”

Sam is positively confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Ah, you’ll find out in due time,” he says with a sigh.

He looks like he’s about to prod some more, but gives up somewhere halfway and focuses on his lunch. The companionable silence is something Gabriel doesn’t remember ever enjoying; people either feared him or thought to be better than him (yeah, his line of work deals with those kind of people mainly). It’s refreshing to have someone who doesn’t care (because he doesn’t know) how much power Gabriel holds, both in the business world and in the supernatural one.

His phone rings behind Gabriel and with a suffering sigh and a roll of his eyes he mournfully gets to it. It’s one of the company’s development manager that’s supposed to do some checking ups near Detroit, and had to call Gabriel with a debrief before the next week’s boarding directors’ meeting.

“Hello, Zach,” he answers cheerfully, walking to the window. “Whatcha got for me?”

He drums his fingers on the counter top, listening to the professional tone of Zachariah relating his findings and general suggestions for improvement. He also brings up unexpected news about this small, local firm of camping equipment who is on the brink of bankruptcy. He thought that Gabriel might take a look at it and see if it can be useful to his expanding company (but his tone of voice is rather apathetic; Zach never really liked to deal with small business, whose profit could only be reaped after years of investment and patience).

But as a development manager, he’s obligated to relay to his Boss (yeah, with a capital ‘B’; there’s only one Gabriel in the world) everything related to possible new investments.

“Uh-huh,” Gabriel murmurs, thoughts scrambling around to find the best solutions. “We could pair it up with Knapcha, who’s bigger and has prime material in abundance. What’s the name of this firm? Hikin’&Travelin’? Okay. Since it’s a family business, they have more experience in the sports equipment like camping, hiking, canoeing and the likes.

So imagine what they could become in one, two or three years’ time if we combine resources with experience! Throw them this proposition and—,” his tone goes drastically from enthusiastic to dry and commanding. “Oh, they’ll cave in and agree with me, don’t you worry that bald head of yours about the boarding directors. You tell the owners what I’ve told you and see how they respond. If it’s an affirmative, call me.”

It goes without saying that if it’s not, Zachariah won’t bother disturbing his Boss and the matter will be closed there. It’s good to establish some unwritten rules with one’s board of directors.

When he turns around, hazel eyes are sizing him up with curiosity (and a glint of something indiscernible).

“I used to go camping with my brother when we were kids,” Sam says out of the blue.

It catches Gabriel off-kilter (but he rights it in the blink of an eye). The easy smirk appears once again.

“Did you now.”

“Yes.” Sam smiles. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop—”

“I wasn’t trying hard to keep it private anyway,” Gabriel interrupts, returning to his half-eaten lunch (Sam already cleaned his plate, the traitor). “You have nothing to apologize for.”

Sam shrugs and goes to wash his plate.

“So, you were saying?” Gabriel incites, mouth full. (What are even manners, right?)

“Mm?” Sam hums, drying his dish. He’s relaxed, an easy smile gracing his lips and it’s making it hard for Gabriel to take his eyes off of him. “Oh, yeah.” He takes the juice out of the fridge and pours some into a glass. “We always went camping in the summer. For as far as I can remember, there hasn’t been one where we didn’t.”

The wistful smile graces Sam’s features (it’s the fourth one this week). Wonderful, now he keeps track and catalogs his employee's smiles. What normal person does that?

If only there is _anything_ normal about Gabriel.  

He places the glass of juice in front of Gabriel and sits opposite him, nibbling at some grapes from the red bowl.

“Thanks,” Gabriel says, ever the polite man (he probably needs to listen to his long deceased Governess’ voice in the back of his head speaking Manners language, but this lunch is too damn delicious not to stuff his mouth with).

The dimples flash when Sam smiles. (Whether at Gabriel’s deploring table manners or as an answer to Gabriel’s thanks is hard to gauge.)

“Dad liked to visit new places, and he took us with him; these trips sometimes took us two days to get to our destination, but it was never boring.” He takes a fig from the fruit bowel and turns it in his hand, the smile becoming fond and amused. “I had my brother.”

Gabriel drinks in all the subtle changes on Sam’s features. He’s turned at such an angle that the light doesn’t catch in his eyes, making them seem dark and mysterious (it riles Gabriel up even more). Eating becomes perfunctory in the face of so much information, both verbal and not.

“It became a family tradition, sort of. Dad worked hard during the year and had little time to spend with us, so he made it a rule to take his sons out on a camping trip that was two, three, sometimes even four weeks long. But we never stayed in the same place for more than two or three days—five tops. Dad used to say that the summer’s too short to waste it only on one location.”

Gabriel is almost finished with his lunch, when Sam (finally) looks up at him, smiling—well, not entirely—

“And I could never stomach marshmallows.”

Gabriel swallows badly, coughing and flailing, and it’s Sam who pushes the glass of orange juice into his hands to wash the food down, when the cough subsides.

His eyes are tearing and he’s breathing uneven, when he regains control of himself. “Kiddo,” he says, and his voice is raspy around the edges. “You need to warn a man when you’re about to say such outrageous things!” (Sam’s grinning, the bastard.)

“There, there,” he mocks. “Nobody died from knowing that I dislike marshmallows.”

“I did.” Gabriel’s indignant.

Sam chuckles. “You’re pretty much alive from what I can see.”

“You need to check up your eyes.”

Sam laughs and Gabriel sketches a little smile of his own, but then he’s eating and the smile is left behind.

“I miss camping.” Sam sighs wistfully and plucks a grape.

Gabriel chews, watching Sam watching him. A staring match Gabriel is not even aware he’s started. Or that he’s participating in.

“We could go camping,” he throws the words out as if he speaks of something not even remotely interesting.

“What.” Sam’s eyes have gone a little wide. It’s not much, but it changes his whole expression.

“Yeah.” Gabriel is starting to come back to himself. He looks down at his meal: only two forks and he’s done. “We could. This weekend. We’ll take the hounds. Give Death a break.” With each word, the energy works its way back into his bones, the very fibers of his body.

“Wait, what?” Sam’s more baffled than excited. Not a good mood boaster.

“I’m taking you camping,” Gabriel looks him dead in the eye, voice light but brooking no argument. “Well, technically we’ll be living in a cabin and near a lake. With a boat. Oh, yeah, I need to call Larking and let him know that we’re coming. Aunt—his wife should restock the fridge and pantry and air out the mattresses—”

“Wait a damn minute, Gabriel!” Sam has to actually stand up and catch Gabriel’s forearms into his hands to get his attention. “You can’t go planning a whole trip two days before you’re supposed to go! Those people have their life. You can’t just drop a phone call and expect them to do whatever you ask of them!”

“I can. And I will.” Gabriel’s resolute expression actually outwits Sam’s outrage.

He falls back into his chair, desolated.

A grin breaks on Gabriel’s face, like a child who got what he wanted. “I’ll go make the necessary preparations.”

“You didn’t finish your lunch,” Sam says feebly.

“Later.” He winks and disappears into his office faster than Sam can blink.


	6. Chapter 6

 

“Do you think it’s wise to go there for the weekend? You can still find things to distract you here, but once you will be out there into the woods, you’ll feel the hunger much stronger.” Gabriel scoffs. “There is a reason why you spend most of your time in L.A, even if you despise big cities.”

“Yeah, meat’s half the trouble to get.” He rolls his eyes.

It’s been ages since Death gave him a lecture on what’s good and what’s bad for him. Last time he stopped Gabriel from going on a murder spree.

Death stares hard at him. That inscrutable, dark, older-than-time kind of gaze is hard to become immune to. Not when Death rarely uses it. Which antes up its weight.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take the hounds.”

Death looks unconvinced. As if the sighthounds could possibly impede Gabriel to do something he might come to regret.

He rolls his eyes once again and Death’s gaze narrows. “I don’t need a chaperon. I’m not courting him, for fuck’s sake!”

“Not actively, no.”

Gabriel scoffs and looks elsewhere, visibly annoyed. “I don’t swing that way. Humans are like cheap batteries. One is never enough and I don’t have time for a harem. They’re greedy, selfish and needy.”

Death contemplates him. “You might not regard humans as good enough to be your bed partners, but you can’t deny that Sam’s presence doesn’t pass unnoticed. It affects you in ways you still do not understand.”

“All right, Doctor Freud, you got me,” he snarks. What else is he supposed to do to get Death off his back? Yeah, they got to this point. “What kind of illness afflicted my brain?”

Death smiles just like he does when he knows more than he lets on. “I believe this weekend will be enlightening enough for your remaining, undamaged brain cells to discover it.”

“You were against me going with Sam anywhere not two minutes ago. What made you change your mind? The fact that I’ll do it no matter what you say?” He’s so rude, he’ll have time to slap himself countless times later. “I’m not stupid. I know that it’s getting harder and harder to control it, but I can’t succumb to it whenever it rises. I need to learn to control it sooner or later.”

Death is so unimpressed by Gabriel’s grandiose plan that the expression might get stuck on his face forever.

“And you have decided you will do it at the expenses of Sam.”

The chill and disapproval in his tone cuts deep into Gabriel. He doesn’t bend. There’s more coming his way.

“We both know you’re not stupid, we can agree here. You are just stubbornly ignorant. Do not forget that you cannot control your hunger forever, Gabriel, no matter how many exercises you will do.”

He could go into the city and have a couple of ‘snacks’ to stave off his hunger, but he won’t do it. He decided he’ll take his chances with Sam and see what the results will be. He bets everything on his sympathy for the kid. That should be enough to return reason to his foggy mind should the hunger become uncontrollable.

 

***

"What's the matter, Gabriel?" Rowena asks. "It's been almost a century since you last canceled an important appointment. This one could open up countless doors to the Orient, something you've worked hard for decades to accomplish. Are you summoned back again? Did those train-wrecks manage to escape from under your brothers’ noses?"

Gabriel sighs. "No. No, they're still imprisoned. I made sure the sigils were foul-proof."

"Then?" she urges.

"It's personal."

"Personal how?"

Gabriel sighs again and looks around the room, using the silence as an outlet for his annoyance. "Just personal. Tell them I won't make it, invent something that will appease them and reschedule the appointment. It's not like I'm doing this last-minute."

“No, you’re canceling it one day before. I don’t see how that’s better.”

Gabriel leans into his ergonomic chair. “You’ve had to work your magic with less than that.”

"Have I mentioned how much I detest you when you’re stubborn?"

"Every day since you've been employed."

"Good. I should ask you for a raise every time I have to save your arse."

Gabriel smirks. "You wouldn't have been my PA if you weren't capable of that. Not that your paycheck doesn't cover all the 'troubles' you have to go to for making sure my 'arse' is intact by the end of the day," he drawls, knowing he hit the jackpot.

Rowena huffs. "Spoiled brat." And she disconnects.

Well, she's the only other person, besides Death, whom Gabriel allows the occasional insult. Not that he doesn't deserve them, but there's no need to let others know that. He sighs contentedly because whenever he has to deal with Rowena he always feels a great deal of satisfaction when he gets his way, and throws his cell phone on the desk.

The silence rings in his ears, though. What did he just do? He canceled an appointment made three months ago to—what? Go on a short trip with Sam and the dogs?

He knew vegetables were evil, but never to what extent.

 

“You look befuddled,” Death says.

Sam's swiftly plucked out of his thoughts to realize that he's standing in the middle of the library. He looks around, as if to search for hidden enemies; he sighs when he finds none.

“Gabriel just decided that we're going to his cabin near a lake this weekend.”

“And you had no say in that?” Death asks, a slight narrow of his eyes.

“No.” Pause. “Yes.” Another confused pause. “At first I didn't... he's like a hurricane; everything happened so fast.”

He looks down at the indented couch where Death's sitting leisurely with a book opened on his stomach. He's dressed so casual today, Sam notes absentmindedly: a pair of faded black jeans and a white Henley. And white socks. Yes, Death wears white socks. He doesn't know if he wears them when he's in a three piece suit, but that's a detail for another time.

Death waves a welcoming hand at all the space left on the couch. Sam takes the invitation gracefully and sits opposite him, leaving a few respectful inches between their stretched legs.

“I want to go,” Sam blurts out, once he's comfortable, hands anxiously squeezed together in his lap. “With him. I don't know why, but I want to go with him.”

An eyebrow twitches on Death's forehead, as if it wanted to rise itself.

“You want to spend time with Gabriel,” Death says, his voice betraying nothing.

Sam follows the edges of the colorful cushions with his gaze, thinking. “I do. I don't know why, but I'd like to get to know him better.”

This time Death cocks an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth rising just _so_ in amusement.

“I see an improvement, bearing in mind that not a long time ago you two fought.”

A nervous chuckle escapes Sam. “Yeah, that too. I hope we'll resolve our issues during this weekend.”

“It might prove to be too short of a time.”

Sam looks up at Death for the first time. “It might. I don't see why I shouldn't try, though.”

Death acquiesces Sam's decision with a minuscule nod.

“What are you reading?” Sam asks, eyes falling on the mustard colored book, two raised bands and something written in gold on the spine cover.

“History of Two Species.”

“Oh,” Sam says, the metaphorical ears pricked. “I haven't seen one of those since my uncle's library. Nowadays everything's on the Internet. But nothing compares with the feeling of a book.” His hands twitch in his lap.

Death smiles. “True.”

Sam's brow furrows. “But why are you reading history? Didn't you live it?”

“Indeed, I did. I'm looking for inaccuracies.”

“Oh.” Sam grins. “Are there any?”

“So far none, which is a true accomplishment for that period.”

Sam looks at the book, lost in thought. “Have you met the author of that book?”

Death nods. “Once. It was hard to say if Gabriel took the sarcasm and wit from this gentleman, seeing as he was twelve years Gabriel's senior, or this gentleman took it from Gabriel.”

Sam smiles, picturing this portly man sarcastically ask one of his house's maids for a drink. “They were good friends, then.”

“And a terror to all those who encountered them.” Death nods sagely.

“How old was Gabriel at the time?”

“In body he was twenty, in mind and spirit he was over a century.”

Sam mulls over that, gaze falling over his own legs. “He was ahead of his time.”

“Most supernatural beings are. You humans take a long time in learning new things.”

“Well,” Sam says, a bit irked. “Our time might flow slower than yours, but that doesn't mean that we're slow, too.”

“It does,” Death says, gaze focused on Sam.

“No, it doesn't. We had—and still have—people that were ahead of their time.”

“Few in-between.”

“Enough to bring civilization to how it is today.”

“On the brink of war, still dealing with hunger and disease, even though you pride yourselves to be _modern_ and _civilized_. Tell me, Sam, how much different is your present day than, say, the Middle Ages? You keep refusing to learn from your past mistakes.”

Sam sighs, defeated. He can't counter argue that, because he'd be lying. They're silent for a few moments, until the soft click of claws on marbled floor attract his attention. He turns around to see the Saluki in the corridor, looking at the both of them, her nostrils vibrating. Death waves his hand and she comes inside, quickly finding a place besides her master. Death caresses her head as her muzzle rests on his thigh.

Sam is mesmerized by the ease with which they occupy the same space, by how they slot together like two jigsaw pieces.

“What is her name?” Sam asks, still focused on the Saluki. “Gabriel refused to tell me. Said there was a story behind her name that only you should decide if you wanted to share it with me or not.”

Death's amusement is present in the slight crinkle at the corner of his eyes. “Gabriel exaggerates again. Her name is Mist.” Sam glances at him. “She remained orphan seven years ago, when her master died.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Sam says, compassion in his expression.

“Her previous owner was a Valkyrie. I named the hound after her.”

“So she was a puppy when she came to live here.”

He expected to hear the name of another mythological creature, so he spares them both the question about the Valkyrie.

“A very energetic and unruly puppy, yes,” Death says. “You probably have noticed the absence of rugs on the ground floor and every furniture marked in some way or another.”

“Oh.”

“Gabriel thought that if he brought another hound, he'll somehow balance Mist out and stop her from destroying the house she lived in.”

“And did he?”

Death smiles, hand never ceasing to caress Mist. “They teamed up and created twice as much damage as Mist could have done on her own.”

Sam laughs, because he can imagine Gabriel's frustration at the two hounds doing whatever they pleased. Puppy sighthounds, he recalled reading on a site, were little rascals who listened to no one but themselves. A part of him would have liked to see them at that early age.

“Then, one day, they decided they were grown-ups and stopped tarnishing Gabriel's furniture and rugs.” Death smiles more deliberately now. “Gabriel thought that the reason they stopped was because there wasn't anything in the house that hadn't been at the very least chewed on by them.” Sam laughs more heartily now. “Even to this day he refuses to put new rugs in the hallway.”

“That means that the ones upstairs are intact?”

“No, they've been changed one too many times, but Gabriel likes his comfort, so he banished both of them to the ground floor. He even bought them a dog bed, but they seldom use it.”

“How did they take the banishment?”

Death's smile increases by an inch or two. “They destroyed his sofa.”

“Didn't he close the French doors?”

“He did, but they don't have a lock, and sighthounds are far more intelligent than humans give them credit to.”

Mist sighs, as if acquiescing Death's words.

Sam chuckles and shakes his head.

“It was an ongoing war between Gabriel, trying to impose himself as a master and the sighthounds completely ignoring everything he said.”

Sam laughs again, because the image is far too hilarious. “What did you do in the meantime?”

“The only logical and sensate thing to do. I suggested we hire a dog trainer, once  the unruly tempers calmed down somehow.”

“And it worked?”

Death nods, glancing down at Mist.

“Surprisingly well. In about two weeks they learned everything there was to learn. Gabriel, how to be a master and the sighthounds how to listen to said master when no furry animal in motion distracted their attention.”

Sam chuckles again and sighs, good-natured.

“All right then. I'll go home to pack my things,” he says, standing up.

Death nods absently.

“Sam,” he calls out, just as Sam's about to step into the hallway. “Thank you for washing my car.”

Sam smiles and nods in acquiescence.


	7. Chapter 7

 

The sight of Gabriel flirting unashamedly with Tessa while the Reaper looked completely disinterested by the man’s advances put something ugly in the pit of his stomach. Like a heavy lead ball, pulling with it all the happy feelings and drowning his good mood.

Death managed to keep most of Sam’s attention off Gabriel, although he wasn’t sure if Death did it on purpose or if he just liked to talk to Sam. With everything they needed for the impromptu trip loaded into Gabriel’s metallic grey SUV, they finally said their goodbyes and left for Gabriel’s cabin. A bit of Sam’s initial enthusiasm returned as the man turned on the radio on a country post and began to sing off-key like he thought he was going to win the Grammy.

That was just the nature of Gabriel: loud, obnoxious, bossy and snarky.

He still wasn’t sure where they stood. This relationship started to enter murky waters. On some days, they behaved like old school mates, on others there was this distinct air about them that pushed Sam in his corner. There were also times when Sam could swear the man was flirting with him, but he was either too engrossed in what he was doing to pay attention to Gabriel’s subtleties (or lack thereof) or Sam chose to translate them as nothing more than platonic teasing.

They pull up in front of a two storey cabin, surrounded in a semi circle by tall pines and bushes. Another car is already parked on the other side of the front yard.

“My dear boy.” A raven-haired woman, Gabriel’s height, comes rushing out of the cabin, followed by a willowy man. “We started to think that you wouldn’t make it in time for lunch!”

Gabriel grins and returns the hug with just as much force. “No such thing as late for your lunch, aunt Janette.”

On the front porch, the willowy man looks down upon the two with a soft smile, all deep wrinkles and grey hair. His gaze doesn’t stay too long on Gabriel and Janette, but turns upon Sam, who stands unsure behind the car’s door.

“And who must be this young man you dragged with you here?” he asks Gabriel, although his gaze never leaves Sam.

Gabriel turns a toothy grin in Sam’s direction and, out of nowhere, Sam finds himself in the center of attention.

“Name’s Sam and he comes in peace.”

“I do hope you’re hungry then, Sam, because we have enough food to feed an army,” the man says on notes of laughter.

“Oh, cram it, Jack!” Janette frowns with a put-upon expression. “I made enough to fill this empty tummy here,” she says, patting Gabriel’s stomach while Gabriel tries to get away from her hand by sucking in his stomach, but to no avail.

“You’ll fatten up that boy before Christmas even starts,” Jack retorted.

“That’s why I brought help,” Gabriel announces, separating himself from Janette and coming up to let the dogs out of the car.

From the corner of his eye, Sam catches on the harmless intention to pat Mist in Janette and before she has time to bend down and do something that might have nasty consequences, Sam steps halfway between them.

“It’s better if you stay at a respectful distance from her,” he says with a smile he hopes is friendly, hands up in a calming gesture.

Already Mist's growl vibrates in her chest. Her eyes scrutinize Janette as if she’s calculating the distance she’ll have to cover to get a bite in. Sam wedges some more between them, hoping he cut her sight of Janette.

Janette’s eyes go wide, mouth slightly ajar, hands coming together on her chest into a pantomime of a prayer.

“Oh my,” she says, apropos of nothing.

“Don’t worry,” comes Gabriel’s voice from behind Sam. “She’s like that with everyone that’s not me or D— Dean.” Sam whirls on his heels faster than he thought he could be capable of. “Or Sam,” he says it like an afterthought. As if he forgot about him entirely. “But Sam she merely tolerates.” At which Sam cocks a very dubious eyebrow, because _cuddling sessions in the library rings any bells?_ But of course Gabriel wouldn’t know anything about them.

Or does he?

“I understand,” Janette says. “Well, then, I’ll go finish our lunch. It should be ready so don’t take up too long!” She disappears in the house with a spring in her old joints.

Sam leaves Mist where she is, perusing the new environment with vigilant eyes, while Bucky sits faithfully a foot or two behind Gabriel.

“Seriously? Dean?” Sam asks quietly without looking at Gabriel as he unloads their baggages.

“What? It was the first name that came to my mind,” Gabriel whispers furiously into the trunk, since he’s bend almost in half to get to the farthest bag, until Sam stretches his long arm and drags it closer to Gabriel. “I wasn’t about to call him _Death,_ was I?”

“No, I suppose not.”

But he still feels jarred. It’s been such a long time since he’s last heard Dean’s voice, let alone his name.

“Need any help?” Jack reaches them with a warm smile on his face.

“Sure,” Gabriel says, “grab those two bags. Thanks.”

The interior of the cottage somehow manages to throw Sam off-kilter. It’s not the warm, earthy colors taking up almost the entire ground floor, and not even the wooden furniture carved so that it looks like it got out of the cottage’s walls and not a carpenter's skilled hands. It’s the accessories, the placement of said furniture, vastly different than how Gabriel’s house is arranged.

The space is well-used and stocked to the point of spilling into a cluster, but then it eases up and leaves room for a breath. The light cascading from the windows puts into value how much space the living room has with an open hallway and kitchen. A lot of the ornaments don’t look like something Gabriel would even look at in a store, let alone buy, which means that Janette didn’t shy away from letting some of her personality and tastes spill into the cottage.

Leaving aside the mouth-watering smell of potatoes, meat and spices cooking, the place has every sign of being lived in. Yet Sam remembers Gabriel mentioning that the couple lives on the outskirts of the town they just passed through. Close to the cottage, true, but still ways off to be on the safe side of privacy.

The two sighthounds stop two feet away from Sam and Gabriel to study the living room. Sam is still not used to this type of behavior. Usually, dogs would sniff the hell out of a new place, spreading their smell everywhere, but Bucky and his companion just stand there, in the middle of the hallway looking around with a detached curiosity.

“Leave the bags here,” Gabriel tells Sam with an open, almost childish smile, “we’ll take them upstairs later.”

Gabriel bends down and opens one of the bags to take out the large dog bed, and places it near the fireplace. He whistles once, sharp and short and Bucky reacts instantly. Mist, however, huffs and heads for the couch, where she makes herself comfortable and proceeds to ignore Gabriel.

Sam chuckles lightly and Gabriel just shakes his head, knowing when a battle is lost.

“Lunch will be ready in ten minutes, tops,” Janette calls from the kitchen as she tinkers about with the oven.

“Come, I’ll show you where the downstairs bathroom is.” Gabriel leads the way towards the stairs, but sidesteps them at the last moment.

“Of course you have two bathrooms.” Sam rolls his eyes, but follows the man nonetheless.

Gabriel turns a cheeky grin over his shoulder as he opens the door. “By now I thought you’d be used to it.”

Sam actually has to duck a bit so as not to hit his head on the upper threshold. Gabriel looks like he’d like to put in his two cents about that, but Sam sends him _a look_ through his reflection on the mirror and Gabriel, thankfully, keeps his mouth shut. But there’s no escaping the amused grin.

“Some things you never get used to,” Sam mutters in response to Gabriel's previous comment, as he folds his shirt’s sleeves.

“So, what do you think?”

“Mm?” Sam hums absentmindedly as he washes his hands. Gabriel’s whole body is turned towards him, open and friendly, and meets Sam’s gaze in the mirror. “About what?”

Gabriel cocks an eyebrow and Sam huffs as he rinses the soap from his hands. He watches with amused interest how Gabriel does a quick job of going through the whole process in half the time Sam went through.

“It’s nice,” he says at last, the first word to come to his mind. He knows it won’t be enough.

“Just nice,” Gabriel repeats, not convinced and accepts the towel Sam offers him.

“Homey?”

Gabriel shakes his head with a small smile. “I want an honest opinion, Sam.”

Sam looks at Gabriel contemplatively for some time, before saying, “it doesn’t feel like you.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. Not really, but it’s a near thing.

“What does it feel like, then?”

“Not you?”

Gabriel snorts and Sam grabs the towel to put it back in its place, but Gabriel doesn’t loosen his hold of it. The towel remains suspended between them, like a wrinkled bridge.

“There’re a lot of not-mes out there. You have to be more specific.”

Sam sighs, but there’s the hint of a smile in the corner of his lips. “I’m one hundred percent sure you didn’t furnish the house—at least not the ground floor,” he amends after a small pause. “But it’s welcoming and cosy, perfect for winter stay ins.”

“So between a tent and this, which one would you pick?” Gabriel finally asks, a smile kept at bay from turning into a wide grin.

Sam stares at Gabriel for a bit. “So this is where you were going with that question.” A sigh and an amused shake of his head, before Sam ducks out of the bathroom.

“That’s not an answer,” Gabriel follows him into the kitchen.

Sam just shakes his head with a smile and sits on the chair opposite the glass doors leading to the small backyard. Gabriel plops right in front of him, staring intently at him.

Even though Gabriel intended to get an answer out of Sam by using the powerful intensity of his gaze alone, he soon succumbs to chatting merrily with Jack and Janette. They exchange stories and information, tease each other, and never once does Sam feel like he's being left out. He can’t say that they try hard to keep him part of their conversation, either; everything goes on like a well-oiled machine.

By the time Jack not-so-subtly tells his wife that they should get out of Sam and Gabriel’s hair, the sun has started its descent. Gabriel turned on the lights on the front and back porch while the elderly couple put on their winter coats.

“The temperatures drop drastically during the night around there,” Janette tells Sam, “and you should be careful and dress up accordingly if you don’t want to catch a cold,” she goes on, fussing like a mother hen would.

She missed it, Sam realizes as she kisses both his cheeks and giggles softly when he has to almost double over to allow her to do the deed. There isn’t anyone around she can do the mother henning on, so she appreciates every moment she’s able to do it, even if that person is an unassuming stranger like Sam.

She doesn’t smell like his mom used to, though: baked pies and cinnamon; hers is the crisp smell of winter coupled with freshly-cut wood and warmth. So much warmth in her hug, too, with her chubby arms going all the way around his neck and gifting him with a few moments of that special brand of love only a mother would be able to give.

The hold Jack has on his hand when they shake them reminisces of his father’s, although he doesn’t remember ever shaking hands with his own dad. He imagines it would feel a little like this. Jack’s smiles are all gathered up in the crinkles around his eyes, because the stuffy mustache hides most of his lips.

Gabriel isn’t exempt from this treatment either, but Jack gives him a side-hug too.

Sam stands still in the middle of the hallway, looking out through the open door at Gabriel waving as the red tail-ends of the car disappear down the driveway. He remains there throughout the process of Gabriel closing the door and turning around. His serene expression doesn’t change as he comes in front of Sam.

“How’re you feeling, kiddo?”

There's isn't anything harsh about how those words sound, even if he probably is like that with everybody else that's not Death: unpleasant, unyielding, cold.

“Warm,” Sam says, looking down at the man, mind pleasantly blank.

“Then you’re good.”

“Better than good.”

They grin at each other, the knowledge that both of them feel the same funny in some way. But it’s probably the wine they’ve had that’s making everything dulcet.

“Come, I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

The second floor turns out to have only three bedrooms. Yes, _only_. Sam expected more than that, for some reason. One bedroom at the end of the small hallway, Gabriel’s, and the other two facing each other were rather small, but in a good way.

Sam took a shower as Gabriel unpacked his things and fed the dogs.

The knock comes unexpected as Sam pulls on a pair of track pants, towel carelessly flung around his neck. He calls out a ‘come in’ because it can’t possibly be anyone, but Gabriel.

He hears the door open and sees Gabriel lean on the door jamb in his peripheral vision. The whistle is what makes him look up at him, the smarmy smile totally uncalled for, in Sam’s opinion.

“I think I’m gonna promote you to Captain Eight-Packs.”

Sam rolls his eyes in reply and pulls a white top and a burgundy pullover in quick movements.

“Are you up for a little trek in the woods?”

“It sounds like you’re planning to leave me there.”

Gabriel chuckles and pulls himself up. “That would be far too cruel and such a waste,” he says, shamelessly ogling Sam. “But apart from you discovering my evil plan, I was thinking of letting out the rascals before it gets dark, and show you the surroundings in the meantime.”

Sam discovers, with too little astonishment, that a good portion of the woods belongs to Gabriel. He didn’t like Sam’s unenthusiastic face when he so dramatically told him about this ownership, and he fumed for a while beside Sam, giving him the silent treatment. Unfortunately for Mister, Sam was too caught up in the surroundings to give Gabriel the attention he so obviously demanded.

Just like that, Sam realizes that the world can move around somebody else for a chance.

Somehow, the path takes them down to the river, almost half a mile away from Gabriel’s cabin. From the pier it looks beckoning and warm; a safe haven amids dark greenery, now that the sun sinks below the tree tops and the semi-darkness makes for a soft contrast to the cabin’s lights.

Buck’s splayed on his stomach beside Sam’s thigh and the other one sits on her hunches between Sam and Gabriel, probably watching the cabin, too.

“Death is strangely passionate about plants.” He glances at Gabriel, who’s swaying his feet above the water.

“It’s because he admires life.”

Sam frowns. “He doesn’t give me the impression that he’s some kind of a Buddhist.”

Gabriel barks a short laugh, head thrown back. “Oh, if he could hear you…” The laughter dies into an amused smile. “He’s not a Buddhist. He doesn’t adhere to any kind of religion.”

Sam regards Gabriel for a few moments, a phantom smile on his lips at Gabriel’s delight. He looks less rigid or like he’s thinking up solutions to a million issues when he’s smiling. He likes this Gabriel.

“He’s such a paradox, if you ask me,” Gabriel continues. “He loves life with the passion of a dying man, yet he reaps souls. He warmed up to humans at some point during his stay here; he used to find them so insignificant, but now…”

“Now?”

“I’m not sure.” Gabriel shrugs. “He looks at you differently, I guess.”

“Why do you exclude yourself?”

Gabriel huffs with a bitter smile. “Because I belong to a category that’s not seen with good eyes by Death.”

Sam’s frown deepens, but Gabriel’s standing up and dusting his jeans, and Sam has no other choice but to follow suit. But when he uses the pier’s pillar on which he leaned on to stand up, he hurts himself. It must have been a nail protruding from the wood or a splinter. The fact is: it _hurt_ and there's a bloody line trickling down from the middle of his left palm.

“Damn,” he breathes.

“Lemme see,” Gabriel demands, two steps too close to Sam.

“No, it’s fine. Just a minor scratch.”

“I want to see.”

Sam stares at him. “It’s not a big deal,” he says it even as Gabriel makes a grab for Sam’s injured hand, but he pulls his hand behind his back on pure instinct. “Gabriel!”

“Let. Me. See.”

“No.”

_“Sam.”_

Gabriel stares at him as if he managed to gather the fiery power of a thousand suns and direct it at Sam, melting him down. But Gabriel’s about to find out that Sam knows how to be resilient.

“I said it’s a scratch, Gabriel, not worth getting worked up over!”

“I’d like to decide that for myself, thank you.” He puts his hand out, palm up again, an expectant look on his face.

Sam’s still staring down at this man who not two minutes ago was smiling and laughing. Where did all this holier-than-thou attitude come from? The nerve on him!

“No.”

If he wants stubborn, then he’ll get stubborn. Right back at ya, as his brother uses to say.

“Sam, you’re fucking bleeding, don’t think I didn’t see that! Now let me see.” He wiggles his fingers, which, for some reason, makes Sam angrier.

“What part of _it’s a goddamn scratch_ didn’t you understand?”

“The part where you’re being a stubborn mule and not letting me take care of it!” Gabriel raised his voice a little, face pinched up into hard angles.

“Fuck you!” he spits out and stomps away from Gabriel.

He’s shaking from how angry Gabriel made him. What the heck got into him, demanding to see Sam’s hand? He looks down at the injured palm; the blood didn’t stop. If nothing else, it bleeds more profusely now. He walks with more conviction.

_Entitled asshole!_

“Sam!”

Like hell he’ll wait. Like hell he’ll listen to anything that asshole has to say. It’s hard to get Sam so angry, and over so little, but Gabriel might have an A+ Asshole Certificate hidden somewhere.

“Sam, wait! Sam!”

He hears Gabriel’s rushed thuds behind him, and for once in his life he feels a sadistic glee over the fact that he has such long legs. Serves him right!

“Sam, goddammit, stop!”

He’d like to laugh sarcastically at that, but that would feel like answering him, and Sam decided to ignore the jerk.

“Please.”

He was prepared to stomp even harder on the wood dock — and he did — even though he was two steps away from the beaten path leading into the woods, but he failed to bring himself to take another step when that word was uttered.

Gabriel reaches him. Sam refuses to turn.

“Please let me see your hand.”

Nothing could have made Sam Winchester turn around faster than this three-sixty change in attitude. He’s the type of man who can’t believe anything unless he sees it with his own eyes. He has to see what particular kind of expression Gabriel wears to go with—

Soft golden brown, pale pink lips, hands loose at his sides; hopeful and repentant both. God, this infuriating man!

“And you expect me to give in to your plea slash demand, just because you softened your tone as if you were addressing a spooked animal?”

Sam might be two steps too close to give in, of that he is painfully sure, but that only means that he’s entitled to make Gabriel work harder for it, considering the fact that he’s so adamant in seeing to Sam’s little scratch.

“And are you? A spooked animal?”

Sam snorts. “You’re not winning any points by continuing to be a jackass.”

But he sighs and offers him his injured hand nonetheless, when the man doesn’t look like he’ll let the matter slide.

Gabriel doesn’t say anything as he takes it between his hands and before Sam has time to react he… kisses Sam’s palm? No, that’s not right. He doesn’t feel any kind of pressure on the injury, just warmth and a surge in adrenaline.

“Gabriel, what are—“

“Done.” He smiles, letting go of Sam’s hand, and Sam is left to stare dumbfounded at his own palm.

He probably looks funny or demented to Gabriel, staring openly at the wound-that’s-not-there and marvel at the reality of it.

“You…” He looks back and forth between his hand and Gabriel’s kind of dopey smile. “You… how… how did you do this?”

“Magic!” He splays his fingers wide, and pushes his arms in a semi-circle, but then he’s losing his balance and Sam has to catch him lest he’ll get too close and personal with the dock.

“Gabriel! What’s wrong?” Sam keeps him upright, watching as Gabriel has to fight with himself to keep his eyes open and more or less focused. “Gabriel!”

“’m alright. Lie down a bit. Lil’ dizzy.”

Sam helps him sit down with his back against the wood pillar. Bucky’s whining softly and looking at his owner like he’s not sure if he should climb into his lap and offer physical comfort or just lie down next to him and wait out whatever this is.

“It’s okay, buddy. He’s okay.” Sam scratches him behind the ears which earns him a weak wiggle of tail. Gabriel smiles, eyes closed.

“You’re gettin’ better at this.”

“I don’t think so. Mist still keeps her distance.”

“So he told you,” Gabriel says softly, looking at Sam between his half-lidded eyes.

Sam nods as he doesn't take his hand away from Gabriel's shoulder. He's sickeningly pale and he breathes through his mouth.

Gabriel snorts softly. “She’s playing hard to get when you’re awake.”

He blindly extends a hand into her direction. She meekly approaches him and pushes her snout into Gabriel’s palm as Gabriel caresses it without much energy.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that she joins you two when you take a nap in the library.”

Well, that’s a piece of information Sam didn’t expect to hear. He meets Gabriel’s eyes when they open up a crack and is rewarded with a close-mouthed grin.

“She’s not emotionally impaired. She’s just selective when it comes to the people she extends her love and loyalty to. Not that you’re not lovable or easy to get along with… when you’re not prissy or getting on other people’s nerves.”

“I could say the same thing about you.”

“Well, ain’t we two feathers of a kind?”

Sam just huffs a laugh and continues to caress Bucky, who is stoically sitting right beside Gabriel’s thigh, just as the Saluki sits on the other side, leaving Sam in the middle, between Gabriel’s stretched legs.

“Do you think you could stand now?”

A wry smile. “Let’s find out.”

It takes Sam’s help to get him on the vertical side of gravity, but other than that, Gabriel seems to be back to normal. Of course, the bounce in his step he had when they arrived on the pier is gone, but at least he can return to the cabin with his dignity intact.

“What was that back there?”

“Just a hiccup in my system,” Gabriel says.

Sam cocks an eyebrow at him, even though Gabriel is resolutely looking ahead as they make their slow approach towards the cabin.

“You’re bullshitting me again.”

There’s a bit of anger and hurt thrown in there with the words. Gabriel seems to pick up on them as he sighs and completely turns his head on the other side.

“Answering that question implies telling you what I am.” A pause, in which Gabriel turns his head back towards him, seriousness carved into his features. “It’s not that time yet.”

Sam rolls his eyes. This is becoming absurd. “Why? Is it because you’re a… what? dragon?”

Gabriel snorts. “That’d be Michael.”

Okay, new name. Who’s the guy? Gabriel doesn’t elaborate.

“Christ, it’s like pulling teeth when it comes to your identity.”

Gabriel sighs a long and tired sigh. “I want to trust you, Sam. You have wormed your way into my house and under my skin, but we’re not there just yet. You’ll probably find out more about me in due time. I just need more—“

“Time,” Sam finishes and then sighs with a self-deprecating little laugh. “Okay, I got it. I will wait. Whenever you’re ready to talk— _really_ talk to me, I’ll be here.”

The grin is full and toothy, and Sam feels better for the decision he’s taken.

“Gotcha, Capt’n Pants!”

Sam rolls his eyes, but it’s with a smile. “And we’re back to name-calling.”

“You missed it,” he says and shoulders Sam.

“I did not!” Sam pushes back as they climb the stone steps to the back porch, hounds preceding them.

Gabriel laughs. “Then what’s with that big smile on your face?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”


	8. Chapter 8

The bed is huge, just the way he likes it. A lot of satiny space in which to toss and turn during nights like these when hunger gnaws at him mercilessly.

His eyes snap open, electric golden flashing vigorously in the obscurity of his room, before he closes them tightly and curls in on himself at the vicious bite he feels deep within his core. (The whimper escapes unhindered.) Sleeping away the events that have transpired a few hours earlier did him no good. He regained some of his energies, but not enough to fight for control and actually win.

With a shaking breath he gets up from the bed and climbs down the stairs towards the silent and faintly lit kitchen from the low voltage floodlights surrounding the cabin.

He’s thirsty. For more than water. But right now, water will have to do.

He chugs down two large glasses of tap water and his thirst is nowhere near quenched. This is getting out of control. (In hindsight, he had it coming a long time ago, but he kept it at bay by sheer force of stubbornness.) Hands braced on the edge of the sink, he breathes shallowly, staring into the sink as words of wisdom come to bite him in the ass as he knew they would. They always do.

_“Do not forget that you cannot control your hunger forever, Gabriel, no matter how many exercises you will do.”_

At least he’s trying. (Give a man his overdue applause, will ya?)

Soft pressure against his thigh pulls him out of his thoughts and he instinctively pats the short-trimmed hairs on the head. (Warmth coils around his cold fingers like welcoming gifts and his body snatches as much as possible.)

“It’s okay, buddy. I’m okay.”

But Buck pushes his head into the open palm, whining gently. (His soft breath seeps into the palm and he shudders at the small sense input.)

He crouches down to let him press himself into Gabriel’s body. His arms tighten around his sighthound as another fit of hunger wrecks through his body and Buck licks his throat in silent comfort. Exhaling shakily, he dislodges himself from strangling his own hound and heads for the plush cognac couch, fighting with his own biology to balance his body temperature out, but to no avail.

(There’s no energy whatsoever left to fuel that command.)

Mist watches him like she always does when Gabriel is not feeling well: attentive and calm. She looks like she’s ready to jump in and save the world if things go downhill, but it’s a ridiculous thought seeing as she’s only a sighthound.

He pours himself a notch of blended scotch from the wet bar near the window and makes himself comfortable on the couch, watching passively as the wind moves through the darkened trees beyond the line of lights surrounding his cabin.

In no time at all, Buck takes his place at his side, curling into himself and lying his muzzle onto Gabriel’s thigh. He strokes the short fur over Buck’s head and back, scratching once in a while.

Mist joins them not long after, pushing her sinew body against Gabriel’s other thigh.

“I only have two hands, darling,” Gabriel tells her softly. “And both are busy.” She huffs as if saying ‘why do I put up with you?’ and she places her beautifully slim muzzle further down Gabriel’s thigh, almost on top of his knee.

Gabriel chuckles lightly at her haughtiness (unparalleled fondness spilling forth in his chuckle) before downing the rest of his drink and setting his tumbler on the floor, near the couch.

He feels like a leech, sucking all the warmth his hounds’ body convey to him. But it’s not enough. ( _More_.) He makes himself sit as still as possible, unable to override the tempting thought that Sam’s one flight of stairs away from supplying him with all the energy he requires.

He refuses to do that to Sam. Not him.

(But not his hounds either.)

What a fan-fucking-tastical time to be alive. And hungry.

Sometimes he tires of petting the two overgrown cats keeping him warm, sometimes he closes his eyes and lies still, picking up on Sam’s soft snores he can make out without problems, but shutting them out when the need threatens to blow his resistance to bits. Other times he resumes his petting, but never, _never_ Buck and Mist complain or stir when Gabriel stops. They’re silent at his sides, probably sleeping, probably awake and alert to Gabriel’s every shift or sigh or hitch in his breath.

But they’re there, and Gabriel has no doubt that they’ll stay at his and Death’s side no matter the circumstances. For now, he soaks up all the comfort these two smart canines offer him. It’s something precious he holds dear.

It’s like this that Sam finds them when he stumbles down, still sleepy-eyed and in his bottoms. But Gabriel’s eyes are closed, so he can’t be sure. Buck stirs at his side, tail thumping softly against the leather. Sam’s close, his warmth permeates Gabriel’s chilly skin.

“Hello, Bucky,” Sam says quietly, voice raspy and Gabriel cracks open one eye to be greeted with a fond smile from Sam, directed at Buck.

He isn’t, sadly, in his PJs, but clad in a pair of faded blue jeans, a black Henley and a checkered plaid shirt left open. How casually— delicious.

“Morning to you too, Sleeping Sunshine.”  

Sam startles because he wasn’t expecting Gabriel to be awake.

“Morning,” he says after a few seconds. “Sorry for waking you.”

Gabriel sits forward and the two sighthounds jump down from the couch, stretching their legs and sitting down on the lush rug, handing the mission to keep Gabriel entertained to Sam.

“You didn’t,” Gabriel winks up at him as he oh-so-deliberately stretches his arms, exposing his nude torso for inspection, which Sam does unabashedly. “A bit chilly this morning, don’t you think?” he says casually as he stands up and saunters to the kitchen to make coffee. If he adds a bit of sway to his hips, well, Sam’s a lucky bastard.

“You’re half-naked,” Sam points out as he trails behind him.

He grins over his shoulder. “And you have to pay to see the other half.” To which Sam snorts and shakes his head, but the amused smile doesn’t dim from his pale pink lips.

(They must be warm and soft and taste deliciously.)

Coffee!

They need coffee in their system. He forcibly turns his head back towards the coffee machine and starts doing what he came here for in the first place.

Gabriel discovers that Sam’s not really a morning person. He doesn’t say anything at all as the coffee is making, so Gabriel finds himself surrounded by so much silence that he has no idea what to do with. He watches Sam staring at Mist, who is sitting by the glass door leading on the open veranda.

The sky’s mostly sunny, but the wind is running wild between the trees.

Gabriel settles his forearms on the small kitchen island, coffee mug steaming before him. Even though his gaze is turned towards the morning scenery outside, his entire attention never left Sam.

(Damn, the delighted little sounds he makes, the sighs, the occasional slurps, his beating heart— why does he find it so hard to take this man the way his recurring thoughts whisper treacherously?)

“Have you noticed Death’s faraway looks?” Sam asks out of the blue.

It pulls Gabriel from his thoughts rather drastically, vivid images of Sam’s pale neck, warm skin, red-bitten lips as he’s taken over by ecstasy, are promptly flushed down the drain by a dark, willowy figure, resigned look marring his gaunt, elegant features as the bindings—

He shakes that distant memory (still so vibrant, still so painful, still so _yesterday_ ) away.

“What do you mean?” His voice shakes only at the end, only slightly enough to pass undetected.

Sam’s gaze finds his. “You never caught Death looking lost in thought?”

He wrecks his memory for such an image, but comes up blank. Nothing even remotely similar to what Sam alludes to.

He frowns.

“Sorry, but aren’t you two living together?”

“If roughly five months added up throughout a year counts as living together, then yes, we are.” Sam’s surprise doesn’t really sit well with Gabriel. “Being a CEO to an expanding company is not a walk in the park, Sam.”

“So Death’s alone for the most part of the year,” Sam concludes, still looking at Gabriel as if he doesn’t recognizes him.

Well, snaps. Sam’s not actually trying to blame Gabriel here, is he?

“Not quite,” Gabriel says, frowning just enough to result as offended. “We keep in touch. I check on him, so it’s not like he’s truly alone.”

Sam cocks an eyebrow. “How? If you’re miles away running a company.”

Gabriel sighs, more exasperation than anything else. “I check on him through Tessa. She drops by regularly.”

“You do realize that it’s not the same thing, right?”

“He’s not a damn kid who needs constant attention, Sam,” Gabriel snaps, almost knocking his mug over.

Sam exhales and pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, he’s not,” he agrees. “He’s a timeless, vast, old being who craves companionship more than anything else.”

“And why do you think we have two sighthounds?”

Sam snorts. “They can’t talk, can they?” A pause, in which Gabriel outright refuses to meet Sam’s gaze. He continues in a softer tone, “companionship means conversation, means sharing ideas, thoughts, means arguing and getting mad at each other, but knowing that at the end of the day, you still have someone to talk to, even just to say ‘good night’ or ‘I hate you’. You probably can’t really comprehend this because you’ve never went days on end without talking to someone.”

Gabriel fumes. He’s angry, but not exactly at Sam. Now a lot of things click into place, enough to give Gabriel a pretty damn new perspective on his friend.

“And this look you were talking about— “

Sam turns his head to look at Mist, still sitting in front of the door.

“She reminded me of it.” He looks at Gabriel. “I don’t think he realizes this, but he sometimes stops in the middle of whatever he’s doing and stares blankly at nothing in particular. I don’t know if he’s using his powers outside of your house or maybe just getting sidetracked by thoughts, but—“ He takes a deep breath, eyes gliding over his mug, counter top, Gabriel’s forearms, expression twisting into a myriad of other, micro-expressions. “He looks so lonely in those moments.”

It breaks Gabriel to hear that. It shatters him because he’s been suspecting this for a long time. He didn’t truly know back then, but it was the driving thought that made him search the world high and low for a solution to Death’s issue.

How could he turn a blind eye to his friend's suffering? How could he be such a selfish bastard and think that Death is fine where he is, holed up in his house?

He should have… he should have done a lot of the things that run up in his mind right now. But he didn't, and Death would tell him that it's a waste of time and energies (which he doesn't have in abundance right now, damn it!) to think about  what ifs and buts and shoulds and shouldn'ts.

But his thoughts deviate when a particularly strong knot clenches over his heart and forces him to double over. His mug shatters in a dozen pieces on the floor and he grits his teeth as a countermeasure against the vicious grip his hunger has on him.

“Gabriel!”

Sam's hands are on him (no! no no no no!), pushing at his shoulders, getting closer (stay away! stay away!), Gabriel’s body snatching every ounce of warmth that emanates from Sam.

“Gabriel, are you okay? Gabe, talk to me!”

_“Hungry.”_

His voice comes out guttural, unnatural, his vocal chords straining from the low and inhuman sounds that filter through. This is it. This is it! He can’t back out this time.

His eyes open a flimsy bit, enough to land on what his mind dubbed as _forbidden_ : Sam’s neck, his face, lips moving, shaping around air that sounds like words. Forbidden. Sam’s forbidden. He means something to Death; Buck loves him; Mist warmed up to him, too.

(He means something to you, too.)

But he’s fucking hungry. _So hungry._

He wants to take— he has to take everything Sam offers. (Even what he doesn’t.) He can’t fight it. It’s so powerful.

But he doesn’t want to take Sam away from Death and Buck and Mist.

(Not from _me_.)

 _Hungry._ Fucking _famished._ He’s only _so_ strong; he can’t resist. He’s at his instincts’ mercy. And those instincts are raging for survival. No matter what he might feel for Sam, no matter how much he doesn’t want to— to take.

Take everything. He has to. He—

**_Take!_ **

He’s not controlling anything anymore. Both he and Sam are completely at his hunger’s mercy.

He tastes warmth. He tastes the surprised sound that comes from Sam; it’s honey-sweet. And then he tastes more. That thing he has been after this entire time. It comes pouring down Gabriel’s throat, not quite hitting his stomach, as it is rapidly absorbed and processed into his system on its way down.

Nothing, absolutely _nothing,_ compares to what this kiss is doing to Gabriel right now. He’s being demolished, cell by tiny cell, and rebuilt concomitantly. DNA dismantled and written over and over again, until he loses what exactly the definitions of ecstasy and undiluted power mean.

This, what he’s experiencing right now, is so far beyond what words could describe, that he’s pretty sure he died right here and now from an overdose of— _Sam._

“Gabriel,” Sam whispers, malleable within Gabriel’s arms. “Your eyes are glowing.”

“Are they now,” Gabriel rasps as he stares at Sam’s mouth, his hunger raging even more now that he had a taste of this human.

People don’t get drunk or high from a kiss. Gabriel, apparently, does. He wants more. More of Sam, more of those lips and that taste and those little sounds.

He closes in, touching his lips and exhaling shakily at the unprecedented jolt of absolutely neat electricity that shocks his entire system. He swallows dryly, a war raving inside him like nothing else has ever raved since he knows himself.

“Sam.” His voice is a wreck, broken and pleading and unlike anything Gabriel has ever sounded in his entire life. “Sam, I want you. I _need_ you.” Neither realize how much truth that last statement holds.

Sam’s breath is uneven, rushed, eyelids covering half of his darkened eyes, cheeks dusted and hands buried into his hair. He's so turned on, Gabriel can _taste_ it in the air. He just says, “Gabriel,” and that’s all Gabriel needs to capture his mouth once again.

He pushes Sam into the island kitchen with more force than before and Sam gasps as his back hits the granite edge unexpectedly. He takes, takes everything Sam offers—and more. He knows that he shouldn’t take this much, that he should stop. Sam’s a human, and humans cannot satiate him.

They always die before he’s fully satiated.

(Damn it, Gabriel, stop!)

That little voice is too weak to make Gabriel push back and get a hold of himself. Sam’s shameless moans do absolutely nothing to help him; the kiss is even more delicious because of them.

But Sam’s tight hold of his hair slackens and his mouth is making an effort to keep up with Gabriel’s energized kisses. (Stop! _Stop,_ damn it!) His body is heavier and heavier, rosy cheeks losing their color rapidly and the sounds stop altogether.

(You’re going to _kill him!)_

He jumps back in an instant, eyes aglow, as if he just burned himself. Sam slumps down to the floor, skin ghostly pale.

“Shit,” Gabriel ushers out, eyes wide open and hand covering his mouth. “No no no no! Sam!” He calls out as he slides down in front of Sam, checking his vitals and slapping his cheek lightly. “Sam! Sam, open your eyes, please! Sam!”

“Water,” rasps Sam, lips moving imperceptibly.

“Sam!” Gabriel sighs relieved, hands on Sam’s neck and head held low, because damn if he didn’t almost lose him. “Water. Right. Coming right away!” He jumps to his feet and fills the first clean glass he can get his hands on with water.

As Sam drinks, with more and more energy as the contents diminish, his skin loses its sickly, pale color little by little. Gabriel slumps back on his ass, relief oozing from all his pores.

He helps Sam to his feet and makes him sit down as he peels an orange and offers it to an amused Sam.

“There’s nothing funny in this,” Gabriel tells him, ire building up. “I almost lo—anyway, we’re not doing that again,” he decides, arms firmly crossed over his chest.

“What?” Sam says indignantly. “Why?”

“Why?” Gabriel can’t believe Sam asked that. “Were you that out of it that you didn’t realize what happened? I could’ve—could’ve…” he sighs and closes his eyes, recomposing himself. “You could’ve _died_.”

Sam contemplates him as he takes another slice of orange and chews on it. He sighs in the end.

“Look, I won’t ask you about what that was back then, because I’m sure that you won’t tell me. But I know what I felt and I’m pretty sure you felt it, too.”

“You didn’t— I didn’t—” he sighs a long and suffering sigh. “That’s just a by-product of me being what I am and you a human.”

“Fact stands that we both felt it, no matter how much of a secondary result it might have been.”

“Sam,” Gabriel almost whines this word, frustrated and impatient. Why can’t this man get it? Why is he so damn stubborn when he doesn’t need to be? “I don’t bed humans!”

Sam blinks, entirely unruffled. “Then why did you kiss me?”

“Because you’re the only one available on a five miles radius!” Gabriel bursts out and the amount of hurt that flashes into Sam’s eyes is worse than a knee to his groin.

“Sam,” Gabriel says, hurriedly as the man stands up because that was not what he wanted to say. “Sam, wait, I—“ he tries to stop Sam from leaving, but the man turns brusquely just before reaching the porch door and holds a hand in mid-air to stop Gabriel.

“Time,” he says coolly, eyes masked and guarded from every emotion. “You’re not the only one that needs it.”

And Gabriel lets him go.

He lets Sam open that damn door and climb down those damn wooden steps and disappear behind the tree line, even though he fights viciously against everything that tells him to just grab this infuriating man and hold him close no matter the protests.

Gabriel lets Sam go, because he’s a wreck; a half-charged wreck. Passively, he wishes he could have those tormenting bites of hunger back, because that would mean that Sam would still talk to him, would still be _here._

He tugs at his hair as distressed sounds get out from behind his clenched teeth. Buck’s whine and his head darting back and forth between the closed glass door and Gabriel does not help one bit.

“I know, I know,” Gabriel grits out, entirely displeased with himself. “But I need to give him time and space. We both need.”


	9. Chapter 9

Gabriel putters about for the most part of the day, but if someone were to ask him what exactly he did, he wouldn’t know how to answer. The sighthounds are agitated, too, picking up on their owner’s state of spirit and as the sun approaches the horizon, Gabriel has worked himself up into a stupor.

Where is Sam? He didn't actually get lost, did he?

But the forest is extensive and Sam might not have followed the road back into the village. He might have wandered off God knows where and how will he be able to find this infuriating human that pushes all his button and works him up as if it'll go out of fashion sometime soon?

Just when he’s about to call the police and send a search party into the woods, the sighthounds jog towards the front door right before it opens.

“Sam.” He doesn’t even try to mask the pure, undiluted relief he feels at seeing his — friend.

Sam takes Gabriel in, all the worry he accumulated throughout the day, and offers a small, apologetic smile. “Sorry for taking up so long. I found the village and got sidetracked.”

“I’m glad that you’re okay.” _I’m fucking relieved that you came back_ , he doesn’t say. He swallows those words down. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier this morning,” he begins, taking a few steps towards Sam, hands twitching to touch him, but forbidding himself to do that lest he won't be able to control his urges again.

(But he wants, _wants_ to touch and devour and _make him his_ again because Sam is _his_ from the moment he laid eyes on him and he'll fight anyone who even _thinks_ about arguing with that or take Sam—)

“I shouldn’t have said that. In fact, I didn’t even think those words, because I don’t mean them. Sometimes my mouth to brain filter gets crazy ideas and I end up kicking myself for what spills out of my mouth. So… I’m really sorry for saying that.”

Sam smiles and takes a few steps closer himself. “Apology accepted,” he says and Gabriel’s grin takes over his entire face.

(Damn, but he wants to kiss that stupidly imperfect — made perfect by his brain — mouth of Sam's and forget that there exists anything else in this world besides them and their mouths and breaths and moans and—)

“Time to break the champagne?” he asks, completely back in his element. Hell, but he didn’t know it would be this hard to say sorry to someone; granted, he never had to, but with Sam it seems to be an important part of their relationship.

Recognizing one’s mistakes. As if he ever does such a low and human thing.

Okay, okay. He does. He did. And he’s actually sorry about it. Something tells him that Sam will be the death of him.

“Maybe not the champagne, but a bit of alcohol doesn’t sound bad,” Sam offers.

“And I got just what we need,” he says as he disappears into the kitchen in search for the six-pack of beers Jack took care to put into the fridge.

They settle on the porch and sit down on the steps as the sun sinks lazily below the tree line. Buck and Mist run freely, finally able to relax and just enjoy the evening. A worried, angsty Gabriel is never a joy to be around.

“Why did you do this?” Sam asks as he takes a swig from the bottle.

Why does he do anything, Gabriel wants to retort, but there’s a lot of intent behind this seemingly thoughtless question.

“I do a lot of things.” He smirks. “You need to be more specific.”

“Why did you bring me here?” Sam rectifies after a pause. “We don’t really know each other all that well, and to top it off you’re my employer.”

“I don’t think I’m the first person to tell you this, but your wistful expression gets to people.” Sam rolls his eyes, unflattered. “I kid you not!” Told with a poorly repressed grin that belies how much he isn’t serious.

Sam glances around contemplatively. “You’re a guy whose compassion isn’t for everybody.”

“Aw, kiddo, you’re hurting my feelings.”

“You do things for a reason,” Sam continues as if Gabriel hasn’t spoken, and turns to look straight at him, underlining how much thought he put into it.

Gabriel studies him, eyes inscrutable. “So what’s my reason for bringing you here, then?” The tone is challenging.

Sam exhales. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

The corner of Gabriel’s mouth twitches and he averts his gaze, looking around at the scenery.

“I didn’t lie when I told you that your wistful expression is powerful,” Gabriel begins softly, gazing at the crepuscular sky. “And you weren’t entirely wrong when you said that I do things with a reason in mind.”

Sam’s entire attention is completely focused on Gabriel and his words. Gabriel isn’t sure he even blinks.

“You missing those camping trips is less whimsical desire and more a wish to fill an emptiness.” Gabriel’s voice remains soft and soothing and Sam’s heartbeat starts an erratic pattern. “You’re a family guy. I see it in the way you treat Death and our dogs. Sometimes when we’re eating and chatting, you’re not quite there.” He meets Sam’s gaze. “You look like you’re fighting with yourself to be in the present, like you have to make a conscious effort to block certain memories.”

Sam swallows. The atmosphere changed so drastically from light and funny to serious, in-depth conversation that he can actually see how Sam’s making an effort to keep up.

Gabriel glances at him sideways. “I read people for a living. I know when the feelings are shallow and when they’re genuine.”

“So… I made you feel compassionate about me?”

Gabriel shakes his head with a wry chuckle. “No. Intrigued.”

“Oh.” Sam lifts an eyebrow, not quite comprehending what Gabriel’s saying.

Gabriel exhales softly and closes his eyes, an open display of how much he trusts Sam. “You’re a curious guy, Sam Winchester.” Said on the phantom notes of laughter.

Sam huffs next to him. “Everyone is unique in their own way.”

“Your uniqueness is different than the average.” His gaze is laser-focused on Sam’s.

The laugh bubbles up from the man’s stomach at the words, genuine and rich. Gabriel feels like he’s succumbing into the softest, most amazing feeling. He closes his eyes again and revels in it.

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you’re trying to flatter me.” Said with a dimpled smile that Gabriel is not capable of tearing his eyes away from.

“Oh, I don’t flatter people. I either woo them or call them on their bullshit.” He watches as Sam mentally backtracks, smile losing its dimples and thus its brilliance. “One of the two I very rarely engage into. The other—well,” he pauses for the intended effect, seeing the cogs turn behind those hazel eyes. “You said you know me.”

Gabriel would lie if he said he didn’t enjoy throwing precious information Sam’s way just to watch the amount of time it takes him to process it, how he does it and the moment it dawns on him.

Yeah, right about—now.

“You…” But the words disappear from his lips, die in his throat, flee his vocal chords, whatever. Gabriel left yet another human being speechless with his daunting honesty. Hoozah!

He straightens from his relaxed slouch and leans into Sam’s personal space. The man doesn’t recoil, not even a muscle twitches. He’s either still processing what Gabriel said or he doesn’t mind this level of intimacy one bit. Not that Gabriel worked towards getting Sam used to it.

“If you’re trying to convince your instincts that this isn’t what you think it is—don’t.”

Sam swallows and exhales. “So let me get this straight.” Gabriel leans back a bit, open expression and relaxed posture once again. “What you’re saying is that you’re wooing me right now?”

Gabriel’s smile unfurls on his lips. “For some time, actually, if the kiss back then wasn’t proof enough. But, yes: I’m wooing you, Sam Winchester.”

A flash of annoyance crosses Sam’s features at Gabriel’s drawl and use of sarcasm. What? There are questions that one can’t help but address them with sarcasm.

Sam looks taken aback. ”You mean you’ve been doing this…” a pause, unsure how to continue. “How long exactly?”

Gabriel rolls his eyes. “I don’t keep tabs on everything, kiddo. I know that you’ve caught my interest from the moment I first met you and that at some point that interest evolved into something more. Unidentifiable.”

Sam’s quirked eyebrow makes him sigh. “Okay, identifiable. But I’m not there yet. At least not completely.” Another sigh, this one more on the side of resignation, than anything else. “As you’ve said before, we don’t know each other all that well. This could backfire so spectacularly we wouldn’t know how to gather the pieces of the aftermath.”

“Assuming this goes both ways and there are feelings involved,” Sam says quietly, eyes searching the horizon.

Gabriel looks at him, takes in the almost-golden planes of his face, where the sun’s setting rays touch, and the intensity of his eyes, so rich and full of yet-unnamed thoughts.

“And does it?” Gabriel asks just as quietly, as if it’s not allowed any level of intensity other than soft and vulnerable.

Sam meets his gaze, unreadable expression on his face. Unreadable until the moment right before he speaks. The angles of his face seem to shift and change into something more muted and gentle. Something that Gabriel has never seen on his face before, which makes it all Gabriel’s.

“Yes.”

Something cracks inside Gabriel; it doesn’t break or shatter — it just cracks and he averts his eyes, a comfortable weight settling in his chest and making a cocoon out of all the feelings swirling around inside right now.

”You don’t want just a fling from this.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. “If I did, we would have fucked on the same day we met.”

“Then I should praise you for holding back.”

“You should.” Gabriel grins, entirely shameless.

“How will we go about it?” Sam wonders aloud, gazing at the lazy pink and golden clouds. “I believe it’s uncharted territory for both of us.”

“However we’ll want to,” he says, pleasantly fuzzy on cloud nine.

“If I have to be honest, I have no idea what to do next.”

“Then we’ll take it easy. There’s no rush, Sam. I won’t force you into anything you don’t want to. It’s you who decides if or when we take the next step.”

“So you’d be okay with it, if I decided we should keep it at the first base?”

Gabriel contemplates him for a minute. “I have all the time in the world, Sam. I can be patient if I want to.”

Sam looks like he’s still not convinced by Gabriel’s words.

“What do you expect from this turn our relationship took?” He changes tactics.

“I don’t know.” Sam pauses. “I guess everything anyone expects.”

“Like?”

“Understanding, teamwork, complicity, moral support, care— things like that.”

“Then we start from there and work our way up. Rome wasn’t built in a day, after all.”

Sam chuckles and shakes his head, but the atmosphere is lighter and Sam’s more at ease. Good.

“So do we have a deal?” He puts his hand between them.

Sam raises an eyebrow. “A deal warrants a transaction of some kind.”

Gabriel grins. “For all intents and purposes, this is a transaction. Of the spiritual sorts.”

Sam huffs a laugh, but takes Gabriel’s hand and shakes it.


	10. Chapter 10

 

It’s with a start that Sam jolts awake.

The sky is painted a bruising blue and yellow, beyond the heavy curtains he didn’t draw, which means that it’s still an hour or two before the sun will grace this part of the earth.

He strokes away the haziness that comes with being drastically pulled from a dream. Usually, dreams recede into his unconscious like night creatures at the first rays of sunlight, but this one in particular remains on the edges of his thoughts; there, yet not quite there.

He looks around the darkened room, listens in to any kind of sound, but only silence greets him. He flops down on the fluffy pillow, intent on lazing around in the bed for _just_ a little bit more. But the image keeps biting at his mind, keeps calling for his attention. He resists, too lazy to see himself out of the bed and taking his drawing notebook from his duffel bag. Besides, it’s kind of cold outside the warm sanctuary of his covers.

That doesn’t deter the image from pestering Sam and whatever he tries to push it aside, it gives him no more results than if he were to do an eight-digits addition without the help of a computer. The fact stands that he knows from experience how good ideas never cease to torment an artistic mind.

With an inhuman effort and a gargantuan sigh he goes to take out his drawing notebook and a pencil. However, the light in the room is not enough to possibly avoid going blind while trying to peel the image off of the back of his eyelids, so he quietly makes his way into the living room, where the wide windows allow enough light inside to draw comfortably.

Not entirely true, though, but it’s damn early and he’s too lazy to bother switching on the lights now that he is cosy on the couch, plaid covering his lower half. Bucky comes to greet him, but Mist doesn’t move from her dog bed. With a huff, she elects to ignore both of them.

But Sam’s not really paying attention to her or Bucky, who is content to receive a short, absent-minded scratch behind his ears before snuggling at Sam's side. The image calls to him and his pencil is diligently drawing line after line, world narrowing down to just his paper and the scenery taking shape and depth.

There’s undiluted, raw power, rage and protection coming from his pencil’s dulling tip—that’s the expression that’s taking form on a very familiar face.

The body is next, paying close attention to the neck, shoulders and the flexed arms, hands clenched into fists at the sides and prominent veins snaking their way along the forearms. His clothes are casual, black pants and a white, wrinkled shirt.

The background is a chaos of lines and smudges done by his thumb; it’s a blur of bare branches and geometrical shapes in the distance, scenery equally potent and devastating just like the man at the center of his drawing.

His aching hand stops its frenzy movements an indefinable amount of time later. The sun peeks from behind the mountainous shapes in the distance, which means that light pours into the room more deliberately and stronger by the minute.

Gabriel’s eyes glow in an abstract way; Sam didn’t give him pupils—just protruding veins around the extremities of his eyes, shaping their way over his temple and into his hairline. Strands of hair cover his forehead in twisting shapes as if prey to an unruly wind. There's a storm upon Gabriel, even though the picture contradicts that.

It’s not enough, he realizes. He needs to draw this expression again—closer.

He turns over the page and begins, this time concentrating on Gabriel’s head and a bit on his shoulders. It’s so easy to draw him, to catch the particulars of his features; the precise place on his forehead where the hairline begins; the shadowed valley between his furrowed brow, never perfect, never precise; the slight purse of full lips, not entirely chapped, but getting there; the soft ridges traveling down the sides of his nose as he’s caught mid-snarl; the glowing veins, filled with something other than blood.

He’s breathtaking.

And it’s the first time Sam has been able to render an image with so many details to the point of appearing alive—and enraged.

He wonders why.

Gabriel is a puzzle Sam’s brain cannot fathom just yet; cannot comprehend the depths and secrets of.

He stares at Gabriel’s surreal portrait for a long time. Only when Mist sneezes behind the couch, does he return to himself. He closes the notebook and places it, along with the pencil, on the low table.

It’s time for some well-deserved coffee and breakfast.

Just as he’s pouring himself the first mug, Gabriel enters the kitchen looking ready to bounce outside through the glass door. His heart skips a beat because for a moment the dream-image morphed itself with the real thing. He has to shake his head and put in every ounce of effort to get rid of the phantasmagoric picture.

He watches Gabriel enthusiastically greet the two sighthounds, to Mist's dismay, and then turn around to send Sam a beam of potent cheeriness. Sam has to blink thrice.

Which calls for another sip of coffee.

“No caffeine for you today,” Sam tells him when the man approaches the coffee pot with a spring in his step. He’s careful to keep the amusement out of his expression or voice.

Gabriel’s affronted look makes Sam chuckle. “You’re already energized. Coffee will either make you challenge your hounds to a marathon run or do you nothing at all.”

“I’m fine with both,” he says, pouring himself some java. “Drinking coffee in the morning has nothing to do with whether I need it or not.”

“There’s water in the fridge, you know?” Sam suggests as Gabriel leans against the counter, near him. “You do know that your body is 65% water, right?”

Gabriel shrugs, unperturbed, sipping from the hot beverage leisurely. “I also know that coffee qualifies as liquid, so — water.”

“It might qualify as liquid, but it also has caffeine and sugars in it. You just dumped two teaspoons of sugar in your mug,” Sam points out.

Gabriel grins broadly. “But no morning starts well without at least a mug of caffeine in your system.”

Sam quirks an eyebrow, but allows Gabriel the final word. He recalls their last argument; he doesn't want a bis, so he wisely backs down. They drink their fill in comfortable silence, side-by-side and fine with the close proximity. He thought that their further interactions would become awkward at best, downright impossible at worst. Imagine Sam’s surprise and glee at discovering that not much has changed since yesterday.

Well, some things did change. They’re not obvious, like the way Gabriel so easily decided to join their personal spaces, how every time he lifts his hand to take another sip, his elbow brushes oh-so-deliberately against Sam’s arm, how that little smug smile never disappears from his lips as he repeats the motion.

But there’s something that’s been nagging Sam ever since he finished the unusual portrait of Gabriel.

“Why would you prohibit magic in your house?” he asks, just as out of the blue as the previous conversation they had on more or less the same topic.

Gabriel blinks up at Sam. “What do you mean?” He’s not entirely confused, Sam notes with interest.

“Death told me back when I started, that you didn’t allow magic inside your house, which I found strange, because you’re both—supernatural creatures, right? Isn’t that restraining some of your liberties?”

Gabriel shakes his head, amused. “Not really. We got used to acting like humans, so it’s not really a hassle for us.”

“Still, why wouldn’t you allow magic? It can’t be one of your many eccentricities.”

Gabriel grins. “Why not? Seems like it’s right up my alley, doesn’t it?”

“I still don’t believe it,” Sam says firmly, laser-focused eyes supporting his words. “So what is it?”

“Houses become magic-inclined when certain powerful spells are performed in them. Blood binding rituals, to be more precise,” he says, even though he had a hard time getting out those words.

Sam’s frown deepens before his face clears up and a dour look graces his features.

“So who’s the witch now?”

Gabriel’s bewildered for a couple of seconds at the change in attitude, until something dawns on him and he probably recalls their first real conversation and his (unfounded) accusations at Sam’s address.

A belly laugh erupts from Gabriel.

“Damn,” he wheezes, taking care to place the empty mug on the counter behind him. “The joke’s on me, I’ll give you that,” he chuckles. “But I’m not a witch.”

“Of course not.” Sam scoffs. “The correct term would be wizard or warlock, if you’re secretly evil, or even sorcerer, if you’re helped by evil spirits. So which one is it, Gandalf? Or do you prefer Sauron?”

Gabriel grins toothily. “I’d be more of a Dumbledore if you will.”

Sam gives him a once-over and says, “you’re pretty much alive from what I can see,” which pulls out another laugh from Gabriel.

“Oh, you fight dirty. That was such a low blow, Sammy!”

“It’s Sam, actually,” he says it with a smile that’s not entirely friendly.

“Nah.” Gabriel flutters a hand. “It doesn’t do its job. Sammy, on the other hand, fully encompasses all those extra feet you’ve got going on there,” he drawls, eyes slowly descending on his body.

“You’re incurable!” Sam sighs, finishing his breakfast.

“Beauty appreciation has never had a cure, solely because it’s never been a disease.” Gabriel’s more charming than usual; he wonders why.

Sam’s cheeks acquire more color as he fails to meet Gabriel’s gaze. This isn't something they do — they've ever done, and his feet are on unstable ground. He knows how friendships are, and they had something akin to that, until Gabriel made it clear that he's one step ahead of Sam.

One step closer to Sam, actually.

“I'd like my morning kiss now, if you don’t mind,” he says, not one selfless bit ashamed of his brazen demand.

He's close and he's warm; he looks expectant and entirely too confident.

Sam leans down without thinking much about it. Gabriel's cheek is the right temperature between hot and cold, gritty where his beard is growing again. The smell of passion fruit and mint feel like they were especially created to match Gabriel in his entirety. The gust of warm air unfurls over Sam's throat, plush lips touching Sam's cheek in turn, feather-like. It's there and gone, because they separate, retreat and Gabriel's mouth has the shape of a pleased grin.

He doesn't thank Sam for the innocent kiss — why he even thought that in the first place is beyond Sam's ability to comprehend; the pleasure on Gabriel's face demands a physical outlet, and Sam expects the man to start whistling, if not outright tap dancing his way out of the kitchen.

He does neither, smoldering eyes still filled with the grin that his lips are shaped into as he regards Sam.

He turns. It doesn't feel right—not for Sam. He grabs Gabriel's elbow lightning-fast, and with a dramatic twirl, he has Gabriel right under the fevered and insistent press of his lips.

The kiss is a hot mess, full on Gabriel's mouth, the way he should have done it previously; teeth on lips and tongues on teeth; hands as wondrous and impatient as Sam often imagined them to be when uncontrollable passion is the driving reason behind a kiss.

“I think I remember something about us agreeing to take it easy?” Gabriel murmurs, despondent to put any kind of distance between their lips, eyes aglow.

Sam cocks an eyebrow, going for unperturbed, and missing by a mile what with the shortness of breath that matches Gabriel's, pant by pant.

“You don’t seem too eager to follow through, though.”

“You’re the one who started kissing me. I reckon it’s only fair I should continue.”

“Old-fashioned through and through.”

“Nah, just an opportunistic asshole you just gave free rein over the agreement.”

They kiss again and again and again, because every split second wasted on breathing clears away the memory of the other's lips, and they don't want to forget the shape and feel and taste.

“I’m not sure if what I feel for you is love or just pure physical attraction,” Sam breathes, lips inches away from Gabriel’s; he doesn't remember how it feels like to be away from them. “But what I know for sure is that I want this. With you.”

“Kiddo,” Gabriel whispers, both in awe and something darker, more primal, “you know that we won’t be able to go back, if we do this.”

“Yes.”

“Do you still want to continue?”

“Do you?”

Gabriel’s eyes fall on Sam’s lips and then back up to look at Sam. “I’ve wanted to taste you in more ways than one since we raced on the interstate, only back then I wasn’t aware how much.”

Sam’s smile is full of promises. “Then we’re on the same page.”

“Oh, hells yeah!”

They push each other towards the stairs, kissing whatever bit of skin that falls under their lips. On the second step, Gabriel stops and turns his attention towards the living room where the two sighthounds watch their every move from the plush couch they made their own. Sam wonders why Gabriel even bothered to take the large dog bed with them, if the two sighthounds prefer the couch, anyway.

“Stay,” Gabriel orders and Bucky's head falls on his front paws, positioned  on the couch's arm. The Saluki's head disappears behind the backrest, but the melodramatic sigh is unmistakable.

Gabriel looks up at Sam for a moment or two, before both of them chuckle at her snobbish behavior.

“I have to put up with that whenever I'm home,” Gabriel says behind Sam.

“Which is not often.”

“She certainly doesn't make me desirous to return home.” The snobbish demeanor he mentioned earlier is fully expressed in Gabriel's tone of voice.

“In a way, you're alike,” Sam comments absentmindedly as Gabriel patiently stirs him towards the master bedroom.

“Did you just compare me to a hound?” he asks, coming before Sam when they enter his entirely exaggerated room. It's the bed that attracts all the attention: big, full of pillows and with an honest-to-god canopy throning over and around it.

The silk brocade curtains, elegantly tied up to the four posts are the color of bourbon in the soft light of the two bedside lamps.

“She has more personality than a normal hound,” he says as he's pulled towards the bed. He has to climb two steps to get to it, which makes it all the more ridiculous — and very Gabriel.

Sam returns to his horny self in time to push the man on his own bed, before Gabriel has time to react. Sam slides his body over Gabriel's when he follows suit, stealing a kiss and leaving a turned on man pouting because the kiss ended all too soon.

Sam grins.

“You never really apologized for being a dick that evening,” he says it slowly, almost seductively, as he takes off his own shirt; hands skim his stomach and torso and Sam gasps softly, eyes staring lustfully at Gabriel’s spit-shine lips.

“Didn’t I? It must’ve slipped my mind,” Gabriel delivers absently, focused on the expanse of skin that's in front of him. The hunger Sam sees in his eyes is so very different from the one on the other day.

It's something he can understand and relate to.

Sam dives in for another kiss, which Gabriel fully welcomes. He leans up reluctantly, opening his eyes to see the smoldering black turned into electric golden, fading. The glow mesmerizes Sam, and he finds his thumbs caressing Gabriel's skin right under his eyes.

“You’re being a dick again.” Sam huffs a laugh when Gabriel makes a move to kiss him again, but stops him just shy of touching his lips. Their lust filled gazes find one another. “You’ll have to apologize twice.”

Gabriel regards Sam contemplatively, glancing down at Sam straddled on him. He looks like he's calculating something, but then he just pushes himself up and a bit further on the bed, without dislodging Sam, and makes a twirling movement with his hand, which ends with him bowing his head elegantly.

“Sam Winchester, I apologize for my dickish behavior the other night.” And comes back to plunder Sam’s mouth with new-found fervor.

“That’s just one,” Sam says between kisses as he’s pulled closer into Gabriel's lap. “Where’s the second one?”

“When we’re done.”

“Oh, this is a half upfront, half later kind of thing?” His laugh turns into a groan when Gabriel sucks a mark into Sam’s shoulder and his palm adds pressure on his groin.

“This is an “I’ve waited far too long to taste and worship you to have any patience left” thing.”

Sam huffs a breathless laugh, hips seeking more delicious pressure from Gabriel's hand. “Where’s the patient man you self-proclaimed to be?”

“On vacation,” Gabriel replies quickly, finding Sam's mouth again. “And I said when I want to. There’s a difference.” But the words are muffled and bent around Sam's lips, because their mouths are, by all means, unable to stay apart for long.

Sam laughs, but it morphs into a filthy moan fairly quickly when Gabriel decides to roll his hips tauntingly. “I feel like I should call you on your bullshit the way you do with other people.”

Gabriel’s smoldering gaze meets Sam's; he doesn’t recognize anything elsein there except burning lust and coiled possessiveness. “And you’re not incoherent enough for my liking.”

He changes tables. With strength enough to topple Sam over on the spacious bed, Gabriel climbs on top of him, not unlike a predator conquering his prey. Sam   gets rid of Gabriel's shirt as the man descends on his collarbone, kissing his way down his chest, down his ribs, then up on his stomach, stopping at his navel and dipping the tip of his tongue into it.

Sam arches up, but he's held down by Gabriel's strong hands on his hips.

The belt buckle clinks under Gabriel's nimble fingers, he unfastens the button, too, and pulls Sam's jeans off. He's pushed over before he gets a chance to rid Sam of his briefs.

“You're not the only one strong enough—,“ Sam says triumphantly, but is cut off by Gabriel changing their positions once again.

“To what?” Gabriel grins toothily. “Get on top?”

Sam matches Gabriel's grin as a fight ensues, both holding to their top position for one set of a breath, before being swiftly dethroned by the other. Giggles and slaps, moans and dirty tricks—the bed is ravaged by their fight, pillows thrown on the floor or scattered across the bed, the cover hanging over the edge of the mattress and an angle of the bed sheet got pulled out.

In the end, it's Sam that ends up under Gabriel, hands pinned high above his head, breathing hard and smiling widely. At some point, they both got naked and sweating.

“Gotcha!” Gabriel rubs it into Sam's face, leaning forward. “Now you're mine.”

“Who said that?” Sam grins up at him, pupils blown wide.

“You, when you agreed to this.”

Sam just laughs at this and Gabriel makes the mistake of slacking his hold. It's all Sam's waiting for; he topples Gabriel over and pins the man fully with his body.

Their noses touch, breath mingling, as Sam says smirking dangerously, “I belong to no one, but myself.”

Gabriel's strategy is to kiss Sam hard, biting into his mouth, conquering and devouring with enthusiasm, which distracts Sam enough so that Gabriel can return to his favorite position on top of Sam.

“I want your submission, Sam,” Gabriel demands, smiling down at a writhing Sam trying to dismount Gabriel.

A short laugh bubbles up from Sam's throat. “You've got balls to ask for that.”

“I do.” He grins smugly.

“You have to earn it.”

“Didn't I already?”

Sam pauses to regard Gabriel.

“You need to learn that you can't have everything just because you want it.”

Gabriel's grin dims into a soft smile. He leans down, lips so close to Sam's that they touch.

“I know,” he whispers, right before capturing Sam's mouth once again.

This time, it's a tender conquest, one Sam allows without putting up much of a fight.

He knows he already lost this battle when he relaxes his muscles and entwines his fingers with Gabriel's, responding in kind to the kiss. Their hips begin a slow undulation and their kiss turns breathless in no time, sharing moans and groans alike.

Gabriel's eyes are half-lidded and glowing softly when Sam opens his. It antes up Sam's excitement. He has no idea who he's actually bedding; for all he knows he could be dead come morning. Most supernatural beings feed on humans one way or another and he had been reticent in taking the next step specifically for this reason.

He still is.

Yet he finds it so difficult to resist Gabriel, to deny himself the warm body that slides along his in the most excruciating of ways, trapping and rubbing their cocks between their stomachs. He is a temptation onto himself. But Sam believes that all the fault should go to those soft glowing eyes that entrapped Sam so completely and irrevocably.

Why, he wonders somewhere in the back of his mind, while he's voicing his appreciation through every moan and groan and sigh and bitten lip.

Through this to-and-fro movement, Sam is pushed up, up towards the foot of the bed — Gabriel's lips map out the column of his neck, his collarbone, chest, deliberately ignoring his nipples since a hand encircles both their cocks and his hips push forward, closing his fist and creating the most delicious tight ring of pre-come smeared cocks.

They both groan loudly. When Sam opens his eyes, he's greeted with his own reflection upside down on the mirror attached to the wardrobe. His breath gets knocked out of his chest as he takes in their bodies awashed in the soft, warm light, their dicks caught into Gabriel's fist and, most of all, Gabriel.

His practiced undulations, the flexing muscles of his arms and stomach, his expression. That expression. A full-body shiver catches Gabriel's attention and he descends upon Sam's neck, biting and sucking a mark near his collarbone.

Another trust and Sam's climaxing with a silent cry and Gabriel's fast breathing is dimmed only by the pleasant buzz in his ears.

Gabriel continues his thrusts, chasing his own orgasm.

Sam comes back to himself in a short time. He pushes both his hands into Gabriel's hair, pulling at it just on the right side of painful and he leans up to smash their mouths together in a bruising kiss that sets off Gabriel's orgasm like a crashing wave.

He falls on Sam, which pulls a wince from Sam at feeling all that come pressed between their stomachs. But he allows Gabriel a couple of minutes to regain his control.

“I hope you're ready for Round 2 because I'm nowhere near done with you.” Gabriel leans up to grin wolfishly at Sam.

“First, we shower, then we'll negotiate the terms for the second round,” Sam tells him as Gabriel pulls up and off him, both grimacing at the almost dry come that pulls at their stomach.

Sam expects Gabriel to initiate something in the shower; he's almost compelled to do that himself, but Gabriel's fussing too much over getting all his six feet and counting cleaned up to dare disrupt this forgotten feeling of being cared for so thoroughly and with so much love.

He opens his eyes and looks down at Gabriel who's busy rinsing off the studs on his torso and arms; so focused and serious, it's almost a perfect companion to his earlier expression, only back then he was concentrated on coming rather than on cleaning Sam.

Love comes in all shapes and forms. This might not be the romantic love he first thought it was, but something a little bit further, a little bit closer to friendship, than anything romantically inclined; which is not quite true, since they've talked about this and discovered that they're both attracted to each other and both want something more than sex.

He closes his eyes with a contented little smile.

Yeah, this might as well be going into a more serious direction. For now, he has no reason why he should conjure up so many theories and read between the lines. Gabriel's a pretty straightforward guy. If he has something to tell Sam, he's most definitely going to tell Sam; no beating around the bush.

“What's with the dopey smile, kiddo. That good I am?” He winks at Sam when he looks down at him.

Sam smirks cheekily. “You're a bit rusty, but with some practice I'm sure you'll get there,” he says, which earns him a slap on his ass and a chuckle from Gabriel as he ducks out of the shower.

“Get your perfect ass out here so I can dry you.”

Sam obeys with a smile, but he still makes a show of bowing in front of Gabriel so that he can dry his hair off.

“Your cheek will get you into trouble,” Gabriel says while he rubs the towel on Sam's hair.

“I don't know what you're talking about.” The smile bleeds into his words.

“Oh, you'll see exactly what I'm talking about in a bit,” Gabriel grins wolfishly at Sam when he leans up; he does a half-assed job at drying the rest of his body, but Sam doesn't complain.

However, when they get back into bed, Sam puts up quite a fight because he's that little shit who doesn't like to be dominated without giving hell first and foremost.

“Sam,” Gabriel says in warning, catching one wrist and pinning it above his head on the bed.

But Sam's still not quite ready to give up all that control to Gabriel. His free hand goes into Gabriel's hair, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. His eyes are set aglow once again; Sam starts to believe that it's a sign of arousal. Gabriel lets him have at it, lets his mouth be plundered and bit into, but the strong hold on his wrist or the heavy body on top of his doesn't give.

It doesn't work, this little trick of Sam.

Gabriel huffs into his mouth when Sam makes a frustrated sound, trying to twist his pinned arm and his body. He won't be dominated that easily.

“That trick works only once,” Gabriel tells him and Sam bites his lower lip in retaliation.

This time, Gabriel's eyes take on a dangerous glint as the tip of his tongue passes over the little cut, healing it almost instantly. Sam's breathing picks up when Gabriel gently takes his other hand, an invisible force working against him when he tries to oppose it, and places it alongside the other one, pinned to the bed.

Then Gabriel leans up and smirks. That's when Sam realizes that he can't move his arms.

“You've gotta be joking,” Sam huffs frustrated, thrashing against whatever has a hold of his wrists; it feels like invisible manacles shot into the mattress. “You're not playing fair!”

Gabriel grins predatory down at him, eyes still aglow. “Because using my desire against me is playing fair.”

“Well, I'm not the one with superpowers. I have to compensate somehow,” Sam sasses back.

“At least you're honest.”

“You say that as if it's my only redeeming quality.” That got out way too petulant for Sam's tastes; he's not a grumpy cat.

Gabriel dives in for another kiss, licking into his mouth and leaving him hard and breathless once again. He climbs down Sam's body, placing teasing little kisses while his hands are all over the expanse of skin, the touch making Sam want.

“Nng, Gabriel.”

“This is the plan, gorgeous,” Gabriel says, leaning up and pinning Sam with a lust-filled stare. “I'm gonna tease you and play with you until you're a writhing mess begging for forgiveness and release.”

“I won't.”

He's resolute. He really believes that, which only fuels Gabriel’s smile.

“You will.”

“I can see on your face how much you want to take me.” Sam smiles back, looking at Gabriel's hard-on. “You won't resist.”

“Oh, don't you worry that little head of yours about how much I can hold out. I've had enough practice to resist taking you the way I want to.” He licks his lips. Something ugly flares into Sam's chest. It surely showed on his face because Gabriel nuzzles his cheek and kisses his lips softly. “But this is about your pleasure, first and foremost.”

Sam sighs, the ugly thing subdued for now. “How is that fair, then?” he asks softly against Gabriel's lips. He chuckles.

“Don't think for a moment that I'm not taking any pleasure from this. On the contrary, your complete submission will be the utmost pleasurable gift you could give me.”

Sam regards him.

“And how would my total submission be pleasurable if it's not given freely?”

Gabriel hesitates, gaze falling on his pinned wrists.

“You're gonna fight back as soon as I'll free you.”

“And you're afraid of that?” Sam arches an eyebrow.

Gabriel shakes his head. “A little bit of fight is good and all to spice things up, but  I don't like it when it's protracted. It looks too much like work.”

Sam exhales, finally understanding. “I'll always fight back if you don't explain yourself first. You can't expect me to comply to your every whim, just because you asked for it. I'm not at your beck and call. We're equals in this. If I submit to you it's because I want to and not because you demanded it.”

He smiles up at Gabriel's slightly frowned brow.

“Now, please release me?”

Gabriel hesitates once again. Sam huffs amused.

“I promise I won't fight you anymore. I want release as much as you do, and that ain't gonna happen if I keep opposing you.”

Gabriel looks at Sam for a moment longer, making sure that Sam really meant what he said, and then the force pressing down on his wrist eases up, disappearing. He leans up, burying his hands into Gabriel's hair and kissing the hell out of him. It's ridiculous how much he starves for Gabriel's mouth. The feeling is reciprocated because Gabriel gives back as good as he takes.

Their heavy breaths intermingle when they break the kiss.

Gabriel grabs his wrists and gently pushes them above Sam's head. “Keep them there for now.”

Sam nods once, gaze focused on Gabriel as the man kisses his way down Sam's torso, that wicked tongue torturing one of Sam's nipples along the way, twirling and sucking on it until Sam moans lowly. He almost disobeys Gabriel's order.

Then, with a twist of Gabriel's wrist, the bedside drawer opens and a small bottle of something flies into his hand. Sam gasps loudly, entirely not expecting that. In hindsight, he isn't actually used to him or Death deliberately using their powers in front of Sam. He knows in theory what they are—more Death, than Gabriel—but seeing it with his own eyes is something else entirely.

“It turns you on, seeing me using my powers.”

Gabriel smirks down at him as he opens the cap of the bottle with his teeth like he's in a porn movie.

Sam swallows dryly and far, far too turned on.

On any other day—on any other non-horny day, Sam would have laughed his ass off at this ridiculously saucy portray that Gabriel is making. As it is, his dick gets even harder, which in turn makes Gabriel grin like a cat who ate the canary.

He pours a deliberately large amount of lube in his hand and Sam pushes his legs closer to his chest, anticipating Gabriel's next move. His arms are half-way there, catching his thighs to support and hold them still, but a stern and possessive look from Gabriel is all Sam needs to let them fall back to their place.

“I hope you don't—haaah,” — he exhales when Gabriel teases for a second his ring of muscles, before pushing in one lubed finger — “expect me to keep my hands—mmm, up here for the entire time.”

Gabriel smiles from the corner of his mouth.

“I don't. But someday, not far in the future, we will test your resistance.”

He pauses as he introduces another finger, pushing them all the way in; Sam gasps and moans, hips pushing down involuntarily until Gabriel places his free hand over one of them and keeps him in place.

“No powers, no handcuffs, just my words holding them in place, knowing that you could disobey me anytime,” he leans forward, ceasing the movement of his fingers as Sam opens his eyes a crack to see Gabriel looking down at him with nothing but desire and adulation, “but fighting with yourself over it because you know that disobeying my words means so much more than being denied release.”

He pulls his fingers almost all the way out and then pushes them back in, swiftly.

“Means that you'll only get to watch me as I pleasure myself and you won't be able to even touch me the whole time, while I'll be moaning and groaning and screaming your name.”

“Shit, Gabriel!” Sam groans as he keeps trying to push down on the fingers because there's too little friction, he needs more, but Gabriel refuses to let him do as he pleases.

“What is it that you want, Sam?” he asks innocently.

Sam opens his eyes and gives him an angry look, powered by how turned on he feels right now. “You know damn well what I want,” he says and goes to push Gabriel over and take the matters into his own hands.

“Sam.” Gabriel's firm and cold voice stops his hands on Gabriel's shoulders before Sam has time to even squeeze.

They stare each other down for a short while. Sam sighs and relaxes his tensed muscles, letting his hands slide down on Gabriel's arms. Gabriel thaws his expression, too.

“You need to let yourself enjoy this,” Gabriel tells him softly.

“That implies a level of trust I don't think we reached, just yet.” Sam covers his face with one hand, massaging his eyes.

“We need to start somewhere,” Gabriel says and pulls out his lubed fingers, extracting a small sound from Sam. “Besides, you told me you won't fight me anymore.”

Sam smiles bitterly, forearm covering his eyes. “I guess I lied.”

Gabriel pushes himself over and kisses him. “I guess I, too, lied.” He pauses, and Sam cocks an eyebrow. “Through omission.” Gabriel grins. “I like to tease my lover.”

Now Sam's eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

“You forgot to add an 's'.”

“Did I?”

Gabriel's grin doesn't lose its intensity as he sprawls beside Sam.

“You can't tell me you didn't fuck anybody all this time.”

It's not even a question of Gabriel being fucked by somebody because he's pretty damn sure that that never happened.

Gabriel does like his top position. A thought that tickles another thought into life, even as Gabriel laughs.

“Ah, no. We wouldn't have met if I'd have chosen abstinence.” He pauses, looking deep into Sam's eyes. “But I've never considered any of my bed partners lovers because we've never been after more than just a good fuck.”

Sam exhales and looks at the ceiling, contemplating the new piece of information. He's not surprised that Gabriel had been sexually active before meeting Sam. He is surprised, however, that he never found someone worthy of being Gabriel's more-than-just-a-good-fuck.

Which makes Sam—special.

Maybe.

“Were all your partners like you?” He has to ask.

Gabriel grins. “With awesome powers, you mean?”

He twirls a hand and the bottle of lube caps itself in the air and then fluctuates back on the bedside table; Sam held his breath during the whole demonstration, fascinated and awed in equal measures.

He has to take a deep breath to stave off the unexpected flare of arousal. Somewhere, in the back of his mind he hopes he'll get past this—this kink he seems to have developed for people with powers. Or most probably for Gabriel showing off his prowess.

He turns to look at the man in question, thinking that he'll be able to calm himself down, but when he takes in the pale pink lips left ajar, dusty cheeks and his eyes—aglow, filled with lust, he realizes what a grave mistake that was.

Sam swallows, his skin prickling with the knowledge of what the outcome of a turned on Gabriel will be.

“Have you ever fucked a human?” Sam asks softly, watching despondently how Gabriel leans forward, ever so slowly, gaze locked with Sam's.

He says nothing until he's back between Sam's legs. Sam bends his arms on the pillow, hands at his head level as if he learned his lesson.

Gabriel pushes himself forward, just as languidly as a feline. “Once,” he says. “A long time ago. It didn't end well.”

He's right above Sam, eyes still glowing that mesmerizing soft golden.

“I'm a human,” Sam whispers, states, reminds him, the words shattering against Gabriel's lips.

“I know,” Gabriel says, lips moving feather-like over Sam's.

“You're gonna break me as well?” he asks just as softly, already knowing that whatever the answer, he'll let Gabriel do anything to him right now.

“I won't let that happen,” Gabriel promises.

Sam fights with himself to keep his hands down and not sink them into Gabriel's hair. He catches Gabriel's lower lip between his teeth, pulling slightly.

“I love you.”

Time gets sucked into a void as Gabriel stills.

Was it too prematurely to say those words? Maybe.

Or maybe it was just what they needed to get past their issues, to forge that trust they both needed to build this relationship because that is what they are trying to do: build a solid relationship. He didn't think much before saying it; he just went along with his gut feeling.

They both needed that, the thought consolidates itself into Sam's mind, when Gabriel's hardened expression thaws and a kiss is pressed onto Sam's lips, slow and tender and everything Gabriel does not say, does not let Sam see in his eyes.

He, then, descends on his throat, stopping at the base, right above the collarbone and sucks a mark into the unblemished skin. Sam writhes and moans, the sting of pain blooming into pleasure as Gabriel's teeth mar his skin. It's difficult to keep his hands from reaching out and grabbing whatever falls beneath his palms.

“Gabriel,” Sam whispers, moans, looking down at him through barely-opened eyes.

“I got you,” he promises into his chest.

He prepares Sam, this time uninterrupted by any stray thought Sam might have. He decided to give himself to Gabriel as completely as he can at this moment; that means letting himself feel—just feel.

Glorious sparks come to life behind his eyelids as Gabriel offers him nothing but pleasure. There are three fingers crowded into his ass, helping Gabriel bring Sam ever so close to his orgasm, but not quite. He wants more. He says so out loud, but Gabriel doesn't hurry to comply. Instead, he keeps pushing and pulling, only ever brushing that sweet spot that would help him reach completion.

He wants to demand that Gabriel hurries on, but he was proven — at his expenses — that it's Gabriel who sets the pace. For now.

Besides, he made a promise. One that he broke once. He won't do it a second time, so he doesn't do anything other than moan and squirm as much as Gabriel allows him to.

When the fingers are gone, leaving behind only cold emptiness, Sam promptly opens his eyes to see Gabriel has lined himself up. Their eyes meet, Gabriel's asking for permission, which Sam grants with a short nod and an exhale.

The moment Gabriel pushes inside, Sam sees a teemingness of colorful stars behind his tightly shut eyelids. He has to make a conscious effort to pay heed to Gabriel's soft words and relax enough to allow him to bottom out.

Gabriel's exhale unfurls on Sam's sweaty chest. “Damn, it's so tight,” he says between clenched teeth and Sam laughs.

Then he moves; at first, it's slow and steady, both trying to find a pace, but it doesn't take Gabriel a lot of testing to find it. Soon enough, Sam's crying out in pleasure, one hand fisted in Gabriel's hair and the other one pushing against the headboard, because Gabriel is nothing if not a force of nature, all taut muscles and naked hunger, teaming up to bring Sam on the cusp of exhilaration.

In those moments, Sam surrenders. He surrenders everything; his body, his pride, his feelings—his life. And Gabriel takes everything—and more. He takes them above and beyond, reaching out to Sam in ways he still doesn't comprehend, the same way he didn't understand what that feeling that coursed like liquid electricity down his spine when they raced each other on the interstate was.

There are a lot of things Sam still is unable to grasp, starting from the unusual friendship he and Death developed to this all-consuming passion he feels for the man that's pounding into him like he intends to mesh their bodies together and the wings that unfurl from behind Gabriel.

He gasps, the orgasm set off by Sam's shock. There are pinpoints of color dancing in his vision as his release runs its course, unable to tear his eyes off of the huge wings, dimming the light and lighting up the whole room at the same time. They don't seem to be moving in tandem to Gabriel's deep thrusts as he chases his own orgasm. Each blurred golden feather looks like it's moving independently from the other or Gabriel.

He reaches with the hand that's been fisted into Gabriel's hair to touch these ethereal things, but his fingers find only air; warm air, actually, that bites softly at them and sends tendrils of electricity down Sam's arm, numbing it.

The wings reach up, crowding against the ceiling and then they bend forward as Sam realizes that Gabriel reached his climax, spilling his seed hot inside Sam. The very points of the wings brush against Sam's biceps, trailing down onto his arms and pulling out a long sigh from him, closing his eyes and reveling in the bliss.

When he opens his eyes again, they're gone, and Gabriel's breathing heavily against Sam's chest where he's slumped.

He finds his arms encircling themselves around Gabriel, one hand scratching his head which seems to be heaven for the man since he purrs and stretches like a cat on top of Sam.

“We need to shower,” Sam says.

“Mhm, in a bit,” Gabriel murmurs.

Sam huffs a laugh. “You'll fall asleep on me.”

“Nuh, I just need a minute or two to recover from the blasting orgasm I just had. It's been a while.”

“It's been a while since you fucked someone or since you had such a mind-blowing orgasm?”

Gabriel looks up at Sam. “Both,” he says and kisses him until the lack of oxygen pulls them apart.

“Shower!”

Sam laughs against his lips when Gabriel's hands brush against his sides.

Thankfully, he doesn't start a tickle war, but he does grin rather devilishly, which only means that he tucked that information away for later use.


	11. Chapter 11

 

_You're gonna break me as well?_

_I won't let that happen._

But he's just a human. Humans break under the full force of his passion (and hunger; let's not forget about the hunger).

His eyes open to a dark ceiling, holding his breath for a few seconds. He doesn't dare to look to his right. The knowledge that he didn't stop and took Sam just the way he liked it fills his veins with dread.

Last time he let himself lose control like that it didn't end well. It actually ended with a cold body next to him and a migraine to deal with while trying to keep himself out of jail. He had been young then, more in mind than in body; he was governed by pleasure most of the time. And then someone died from Gabriel's endlessly burning passion. It had been the wake up call he so desperately needed.

From then on, he flat out refused to have sex with a human. Too fragile, too breakable and flimsy.

Then how did he end up in bed with Sam, the very same being he crossed off of his fuck-'em-senseless list? It couldn't have been _just_ a need to feed. He's past that primal instinct (or so his logic tells him, ignoring for one blissful moment that when it comes down to it, logic has nothing on primal instincts).

He's still governed by his hunger. No matter what he tries, he'll always be at his hunger's beck and call.

He covers his face. “Please, don't,” he whispers. The fear of jail couldn't be farther from his mind; he fears something far more dreadful than a small portion of his life spent behind the bars.

With a hard exhale he pushes himself up and to the right, eyes drinking in the sight of Sam's serene expression, still deep asleep. Or is he? He stares more pointedly at Sam, brows furrowed. That's when the sound of a second beating heart, besides his, filters the white noise. It's not enough. He leans down until he's millimeters apart from touching Sam. The ghostly feeling of his breath on his face calms down Gabriel's last fears.

Then his phone starts vibrating on the kitchen counter. He groans too loudly, forgetting that he's still leaning creepily over Sam. The man stirs and opens sleepy eyes up at Gabriel. He doesn't bolt or jolt. Instead he just blinks up lazily.

“Gabe?” he murmurs, Gabriel's name a mangle of consonants catching on his tongue. “What's up?”

“Everything that's not down,” he says in a rush, leaning down to press a close-mouthed kiss to Sam's warm and pliant mouth. “Go back to sleep. I have to take a persistent call.”

And with that, he pulls himself out of the bed, putting on a satin robe and quietly  leaves the room. The last he saw of Sam, before closing the door, he scooted over towards Gabriel's side and fully covered himself with the beige quilt so that his bed looked like it held a mold of covers in the middle of it.

Chuckling to himself, Gabriel sprints down the stairs, his hound already waiting for him at the foot. He greets Buck with a passing scratch behind his ears, which earns him a more energetic wag of his tail, and then finally answers the irking, vibrating phone.

“It's ass o'clock in the night,” he growls into the phone. “I hope you have a good reason to wake me up.”

A pause on the other side of the line. “It's half past eight in the evening.” Meg's voice filters to Gabriel.

“So you managed to extract the information we needed,” Gabriel says, swiftly changing the subject.

“We did,” Meg says. “It's ready to be leaked out.”

“Good, good.” Gabriel grins devilishly. “Wait until midnight and then do it.” He hangs up.

He never took the praise and recognition for bringing to light the dirt that his so-called business partners kept hidden in their backyard, even though he wanted to. That kind of publicity would attract far too much unwanted attention, and he already had enough as it was, what with his company expanding and being on the 25th place as far as Fortune 500's ranks went.

He turns on the coffee maker after making sure that it has coffee and water, and then stares listlessly outside the patio door. A lot of things are going on in his mind right now; a lot of convoluted emotions he can't name or recognize, along with quite a few mangled and half-formed thoughts.

He specifically doesn't think about what happened between him and Sam, how quickly their situation escalated, and all because his hunger bested him once again. He's absolutely not, under any circumstances, in denial. There are feelings budding between them, all right, but they're still too vague and confusing; there's a lot of physical attraction going on at this moment.

And it's hard for Gabriel to think or see anything beyond that, at this moment.

Somehow, in-between his evening musings and Buck's unabashed requests for attention, he gravitated on the couch, making himself comfortable between his hound and Mist. She didn't even scoot over to make more space for Gabriel, to which Gabriel just sighed in defeat and placed her hind legs into his lap.

Sam's still sleeping in his bed; he can hear his soft snores only because Gabriel specifically concentrates on picking them up. He smiles to himself and drinks in the quiet and contented feeling that washes over him. There's no restless buzzing under his skin, no hunger bites sizing him up, no fuzzy, unclear thoughts meshing together.

He's, once again, comfortable in his skin.

Bucky licks his hand when it passes over his muzzle and Gabriel opens his eyes. He should prepare dinner. Sam should wake up shortly, and he'll be hungry. Very.

Just as he's about to get up from the comfortable cocoon he's made bracketed by the scrawny hounds, his eyes land on an open notebook on his coffee table. Curious. He doesn't own one here. Before he realizes that it might belong to Sam, he's already looking at the drawing.

He'd like to say that it's nothing he's never seen, except it is. He's seen a lot of paintings, from the Classics to the latest art exposition. But it was never him depicted in those paintings. Never him the one peeled open and remodeled in graphite and smudges. Because it's his own image that he's looking at.

Never in his life has he felt so open and on display as right now; like Sam found out about Gabriel's deepest, darkest secret and decided to just draw it and leave it around for the world to see how much Gabriel is hiding. Kid knows how to make a man fluster, and he's not even in the room.

He's not sure what to think about the drawing, except the fact that it unsettled something in him; he places it on the kitchen island as he starts to make some Carbonara. It's never too late to have pasta for dinner; Italians have no such qualms, either.

It's the sound of a growling stomach the alerts Gabriel to Sam's presence, even before the man himself rounds the corner. Sleepy-mussed hair, half-closed eyes and a rumpled t-shirt that manages to define Sam's muscles even if it's not close-fitted. The only piece of clothing that hugs on Sam's body for dear life is the pair of boxers.

And there’s nothing those boxers define oh-so-unabashedly that Gabriel doesn’t want to see and feel and taste again.

(Desire shoots through his veins, quick and hot. Soon.)

Damn, but he could get used to this display.

“Evening, Sleepyhead,” Gabriel greets from where he's mixing the boiled pasta with the bacon and the red pepper cut into small cubes.

“I'm famished!” Sam mumbles and takes a seat, still rubbing at his eyes and yawning every once in a while.

Mist and Buck are present beside Sam, but even though Buck knows no boundaries and places his head into Sam's lap for the intended effect of having a big hand scratch and caress him alternatively, Mist seems content to keep a step or two away from the giant man, half sprawled on the kitchen island.

“What are you doing there?”

“Our dinner,” answers Gabriel just as he's dumping in the three beaten eggs and then the Parmesan.

“Smells nice,” Sam says sleepily, cracking one eye open and peering at Gabriel.

“Tastes even better,” promises Gabriel, turning off the stove.

He divides the content of the pan into two plates and places them on the kitchen island.

“God, I could eat a horse!” Sam says as he eyes hungrily the plate full of pasta; he accepts the fork Gabriel extends to him and begins eating in earnest, to Gabriel's pleased amusement.

He doesn't have much of an appetite after satiating his hunger a couple of hours before, but Sam makes the Carbonara look like the second coming of Christ — or most likely the most delicious dish he's ever had.

He nibbles without much conviction at his meal, taking a small bite and trying to find the enthusiasm Sam obviously feels for the food. He finds none, though; the taste is bland on his tongue.

“You're not hungry,” Sam points out.

Gabriel glances up at him in surprise, then a smile graces his lips and he pushes his plate away. “No, I'm not.”

Sam's brow furrow. “How come? I'm starving, and I remember I wasn't the one doing all the job.” He smiles a crooked smile.

Gabriel smiles more deliberately now, eying the hickey that's peeking just above the tee's collar. “Yeah.”

Sam chews absentmindedly; Gabriel can see the question being poised on his tongue. He hesitates, though, but not for long. Sam places the fork down and crosses his arms.

“Okay, we're back to square one.” Sam sighs. “If I ask, will you answer truthfully this time around?”

Gabriel takes a few moments to think about it, to find out what could have possibly changed between them (apart from their closeness) since they've talked yesterday to warrant an honest answer, and finds that quite a lot has changed.

He decides to take a leap of fate. If all hell will break lose, then—there's that.

With a fortifying deep inhale he say, “Yes.”

Sam blinks. “What are you?”

“An Incubus.”  He watches Sam closely for any micro-expression that might tip Gabriel off about his feelings and thoughts, before the man himself voices or veils them.

But Sam's face is scrunched up into confusion. “But there were wings.”

Now it's Gabriel face doing the whole confused-looking thing. “What?”

“No, wait,” he says and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I might have dreamed that. But I'm so sure... I mean, there were... I saw them. I even touched them.”

“Sam, what are you talking about?”

“During—,” he moves his hand back and forth between them, alluding to their very intense and mind-blowing (love-making) sex. “You had wings. They weren't really—real. Each feather seemed to move independently from one another, but they still moved like a unit. And they were warm. You touched my arms with the tip of them.”

Gabriel looks funnily at him. “Sam, Incubi are closer to demons than angels. Even if I had wings, they would be far from what you've described. But I don't have them. I never did.”

Sam's not entirely convinced, though.


	12. Chapter 12

 

Somehow, they end up kissing instead of doing the dishes.

Gabriel's eyes glow softly under his heavy-lidded eyes as he explores Sam's mouth once again. Sometimes Sam fights for dominance, especially when he feels tidbits of energy being taken by Gabriel as if he's sipping Sam, but it's never backed up by any kind of ambition; just adding a little bit of heat. It never fails to work up Gabriel, biting at his lower lip and more often than not growling slightly. The vibrations reverberate into Sam's chest, since there's not one inch between them that's not covered up by their bodies.

This time it's Sam between Gabriel's thighs, which are enclosed possessively around Sam's waist, even as Sam's hands explore the expanse of skin under Gabriel's shirt. His elbow brushes against the bowel of fruits stationed too close to them on the counter top, and an orange rolls over the edge and hits the floor with a sound that's very much akin to skin hitting skin.

Sam chuckles into Gabriel's mouth at that thought and Gabriel brings him even closer (if that's even possible) with his legs, one hand buried deep into Sam's hair and the other one devouring every inch of muscled stomach he can touch.

The distinctly familiar sound of a phone vibrating somewhere behind Sam, distracts him from kissing the life out of Gabriel. Or, more precisely, getting his life kissed — _sucked_ —  out of him.

“Phone's ringing,” Sam says, his lips not quite apart from Gabriel's.

“Not mine,” Gabriel returns flippantly, and his hand adds pressure on Sam's half-hard dick, eliciting a delicious moan, which Gabriel avidly drinks up.

“I know. It's mine.” As if Gabriel has ever been interrupted by a phone call (try that again, pall!). He manages to unbutton and unzip Sam, hand cupping the warm hardness hidden beneath a thin layer of cloth.

Sam's hands immediately (and involuntarily) grab his ass, pulling him almost off the counter top, their groins meeting into such a delicious pressure that neither can stop the drawn-out groans that make them finally break the kiss.

“I need to see,” Sam pants, head on Gabriel's shoulder, as Gabriel keeps rolling his hips tauntingly. “I need to see who's calling.”

“We're kinda busy here,” he says, nipping at the meaty part of Sam's shoulder.

“ _Fuck_ , Gabriel!” Sam moans, hips meeting Gabriel's and head falling to one side to give him full access, but just as Gabriel's diving in for another hickey, Sam suddenly pulls back.

He doesn't fall. No. Sam's hands steady him and Gabriel sends him a murderous glare.

Damn that dimpled, apologetic smile when he says, “Sorry. I _really_ want to, but they're persistent so it must be important.”

And with that he just leaves, turns his back at Gabriel and checks his (still) vibrating piece of infernal cock-blocker device.

“Dean?” The surprise is there, dripping like an open wound.

Infernal cock-blocker Dean, it seems. Good to know he has a name he can curse now, because it's not really therapeutic to spit expletives at a piece of technology; it doesn't fight back.

He squints suspiciously at Sam's back as he goes to talk to this 'Dean' on the veranda. (There's a secret if Gabriel ever saw one.) But takes a fortifying breath and hops down from the counter top —

— and his hand flies about to find a solid surface to grab, because his foot stepped on something round, which made him temporarily lose his balance before his weight (and the powerful attraction of gravity, which seems to not be working on _who_ he'd like to) crushes it to the floor.

Orange — he identifies a moment later, when he looks down with such empirically deep betrayal that the fruit seems to shrink in on itself.

Somebody hates him today. Which is something of a daily occurrence, really, but he thought he deserved a break.

He takes off his wet sock and dries his foot with the kitchen towel. He has to go upstairs and change his socks now. He might as well take a shower, while he's at it.

“What's wrong?” Sam asks from the bed he's splayed on.

Gabriel doesn't say anything at first, pausing to let his eyes rove over the whole length of his lover. (There's no escaping his attention the stripe of naked skin beginning at the hem of the shirt and ending with the edge of his jeans).

“I stepped onto an orange,” he says quietly, broodingly, turning to his right and opening his closet.

Sam pauses. “Sounds suspiciously like an accusation.”

“It is.” He might be turned away from Sam, but there's no mistaking that gut feeling of being watched ( _savored_ ), so of course he takes extra _care_ when he untucks the towel from around his waist.

He doesn't have to wait long to hear the shift of air and Sam's solid front plastered to his back, long arms enveloping him in quick succession. He melts into the embrace (giddiness laps at his insides at the display of affection).

“And what do I need to do for you to forgive me?” Sam murmurs hotly against Gabriel's ear. He shudders uncontrollably.

“I might have one or two ideas,” Gabriel quips, grinning up at Sam for a split second, before Sam takes his mouth, licking into it with conviction.

“You might be up for another round,” Sam says, breaking the kiss and smiling when Gabriel follows his mouth, already eyes alight with want. They don’t glow. Not yet. “But I’m pretty worn out, even after the nap.”

“We need to work on your stamina, then.”

Gabriel leads him to the bed, where he pushes Sam on top of the disheveled covers and climbs atop Sam, making himself comfortable.

“Oh, so we’re cuddling now?” The amusement doesn’t go unnoticed by Gabriel, who pinches Sam’s triceps half-heartedly. Sam chuckles.

The rumbles of it reverberate through Gabriel’s cheek and he smiles in response.

They lays quietly for a long time, content to caress each other’s skin and to feel the other as near as possible. It must say something about Gabriel that he finds Sam’s even heartbeat lulling and relaxing.

At a certain point, Sam’s muscles coil, which leaves Gabriel a few short moments of frowning, before Sam makes to sit up. His arms tighten around him, and Sam huffs a laugh at Gabriel’s stubbornness.

“I’m trying to cover your ass,” Sam says amused.

“Oh, already fussing over my well-being,” Gabriel quips, not even making an attempt to move. “How cute of you, but I’m in no immediate danger of getting cold.”

“Yeah, I know,” Sam says dryly; he might have rolled his eyes in the meantime. His voice sounds like it happened. “The perks of being non-human. Now grab that corner of the cover and pull it up, will ya?”

Gabriel grins, head still pillowed on Sam’s pec. “So bossy,” he drawls, not moving a muscle.

“You’re like an overgrown cat lounging rent-free on me,” Sam huffs, without real heat.

In response, Gabriel snuggles even closer, going so far as to throw a leg over Sam’s and doing the best impression of an octopus.

“Let me rephrase that,” he says on the notes of laughter. “Would you cover us both, so that _one_ of us won’t get cold?”

Gabriel’s answer is to wiggle and make his dissent clear through non-verbal sounds.

Sam huffs, exasperated. “Okay, have it your way. I won’t be the one pouting that I’m sneezing and coughing my way through meds because someone was too lazy to make sure their human partner didn’t catch a cold.” He pauses for a moment, and then says in a sing-song tone, “I wonder how much you can go without kissing.”

Gabriel’s huff reaches a totally new level in the histrionic department as he pushes himself up like it’s a chore, and grabs the cover.

“You’re insufferable when you’re right!”

“I’m glad that you—”

But he doesn’t get to finish the sentence because Gabriel descends upon him with the edge of the cover firmly grasped in one hand and covers them both completely, at the same time kissing him languidly.

They emerge for air several long seconds later. There’s no need for words, this time and they lull each other into a doze. It’s when Bucky, followed closely by Mist, enter the room and subsequently jump on the bed to make themselves comfortable on the other side of it, that Sam snaps out of it.

He smiles at them, but only Bucky’s tail thumps lightly on the bed. Mist is gazing at them from where her snot is resting on her front legs. He’d like to pat and caress at least one of the two hounds, but when he does so, Gabriel’s hand falls on his arm as if he stretched and it fell naturally, and unabashedly snatches Sam’s hand back.

Bucky was expecting the contact, looking so apprehensive at Sam, that when Gabriel denied him that he made a confused sound deep in his throat, looking inquisitively at Gabriel.

Sam huffs an incredulous laugh as Gabriel presses close-mouthed kisses to Sam’s knuckles, whispering, “Mine.” His eyes glow softly in warning at Bucky, which makes the hound lower his snot on his front paws and waggle his tail weakly on the covers, demure.

“Seriously?” Sam asks, not losing an ounce from his incredulity. “What are you, five?”

Gabriel makes a noncommittally sound, still kissing Sam’s knuckles. “I’m older than that.”

A pause.

“How old are you?”

Moments of silence stretch and yawn like lazy cats and it isn’t until they trespass a minute, that Gabriel responds. “I lost count.” Now, Sam might be inclined to think that Gabriel doesn’t want him to know the answer to his question, maybe Gabriel doesn’t trust Sam enough to reveal that kind of information or maybe Gabriel deems it too sensitive a question.

But the wistful sound of his voice tells Sam something different. He gracefully lets the matter drop.

“I'm sorry,” Gabriel says several seconds, the words sounding unnatural on his lips; as if he battled with himself to throw them out.

“What for?”

“For treating you badly that evening. I— didn't quite think rationally back then. I shouldn't have lashed out at you like I did.” Moments of silence as Sam mulls over this precious information. “You are not below me, Sam,” he adds, when he feels the man boring holes into his head as if he's trying to understand how Gabriel functions (as if he's a damn toy).

“I never felt below you,” Sam says at length. “Death helped smooth the transition, and though you aren't a guy someone can get comfortable with from the get-go, despite you putting a lot of effort in creating exactly that kind of feeling through your easy-going masquerade, you never once made me feel inferior.”

Gabriel's stunned (it feels like he comprised all of Gabriel's being into one, long sentence). Being naked and under someone else's scrutiny has never bothered Gabriel, but this kind of nakedness is on a totally different level.

“Does that mean that you think of humans as below you?” Sam asks neutrally.

“No!” Of course he's affronted! How could Sam think that of him? “Why would you say that?”

Sam shrugs. “Curious. I know that we're not the only ones entitled to behave like arrogant dicks with you. We have snobs enough to populate Mars and still need a second planet for the rest. I wouldn't be surprised if you felt the same kind of animosity towards us.”

Gabriel snorts. “Animosity is too strong a word. There are creatures, clans even, who look down on your lot, but they're too uptight to do something about it, so they choose to ignore your existence.”

“Then why did you act so rashly back then?”

“You struck too close to home for me to keep my cool. And, believe me, it's something. I've trained myself to keep my wits about even under the most strenuous of situations.”

“So I'm special,” Sam jeers, grinning cheekily. Gabriel regards him for a few silent moments.

“I start to believe that you are.” _Maybe more so than either of us can grasp_ , he thinks.

 

***

They leave early on Monday morning. The weather is bleak and on the verge of raining. For the duration of their journey back, they don’t talk much; they soak up the comfortable silence between them, another way of getting used to one another.

Sam’s hand keeps rubbing a spot at the base of his neck, and Gabriel notices, he knows, but he doesn’t say anything. It’s enough that Sam is able to feel the  smugness rolling off in waves from Gabriel. Besides, he’s in no hurry to interrupt the easy atmosphere that surrounds them.

Mist and Bucky are quiet in the backseat, mostly because neither one likes to be put into a cage. It’s for their own safety, so they have to bear it for a couple of hours.

When they arrive, it’s pouring in Monroe, so Sam’s silently grateful that Gabriel has an underground garage.

“Good afternoon, Gabriel, Sam,” Death greets them as Sam frees the two hounds from their prison.

Mist is the first one to get out and she immediately goes to sit by Death. He doesn’t miss a beat and he strokes the fur on her head.

“Afternoon, Death,” says Gabriel, taking out their baggage. “How were things during our absence?”

“Quiet.”

Bucky comes to stand by Gabriel, tail waggling happily and Sam sees how Gabriel’s eyes narrow ever so slowly at Death’s answer.

“Is that so?”

Sam should go home and unpack, wash his dirty clothes and stay by himself for a while to drink in the new shift in his relationship dynamic with his employer. Yeah, whichever way he looks at it, Gabriel still remains the one that pays him.

But he can’t go home right now. Death looks… old and fatigued. As if a great disease plagued him during the weekend and only now did he manage to get rid of it, leaving him drained of energies. He approaches Death as Gabriel climbs the stairs, both hounds in tow, since they know that they’re going to get fed.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks bluntly.

Death sketches a tired smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I am just tired, but I appreciate your concern, Samuel.”

Ack. He never used Sam’s full name before, which means that the matter is more serious than Death lets on. And he isn’t in the mood to talk about it. From lack of something to do with his hands, Sam pushes them into his jacket pockets — where he finds the photo he stuffed in there before leaving.

“Have I ever shown you a photo of my brother?”

Death lifts an eyebrow. “As far as I know, no, you did not.”

Sam grins. “Then ‘lo and behold!” He takes the photo out and shows it to Death. “It was taken right before he was deployed overseas.”

Death pores over the photo of two men side-hugging each other and smiling broadly at the camera. 

“Why are you telling me this?”

Sam keeps the fond smile on his lips. “He called me yesterday,” he says quietly. “After more than two years of radio silence… he’s here. He finally… came home.” But he furrows his eyebrows.

Before Death can ask him anything, Gabriel’s voice echoes from above, calling them to a late lunch. Or early dinner. Sam smiles that rueful smile and pockets the photo, before gesturing for Death to take the lead.

“I'll have to go back to L.A. for two or three days,” Gabriel tells Death halfway through their meal.

Death doesn’t look surprised in the least.

“I want—“ Sam begins, but cuts himself short.

Death and Gabriel turn to look at him expectantly. “What do you want, Sam?” Death asks and Gabriel smiles encouragingly.

“Um… I've spoken to Dean — my brother — and he said… I mean it's not even sure for how long, but he said — well, he said he's gonna be in L.A. for the next couple of days.”

“And you want to see your brother,” Gabriel states and Sam just nods meekly like he just asked Gabriel for money. “You know you're free to go wherever and whenever you please as long as you return here, right?”

“But I'm working,” Sam protests. “I mean, I need to work.”

Gabriel looks over at Death. “Does he?”

“Everything's been taken care of before Friday. There's little else he could do here,” Death answers solemnly.

Sam blinks slowly at them. “Still, I can't just take two days off on such a short notice.”

Gabriel turns another confused look at Death. “Can't he?”

“Will you stop playing this game already!” Sam says exasperatedly. “I'm serious.”

“So are we,” says Gabriel.

“You haven't seen your brother in a long time,” Death comments.

“We know how important family is.” Death glances sideways at Gabriel. “Don't worry. I'll arrange for you to get to L.A. Excuse me, I have a couple of phone calls to make.”

Gabriel exits the kitchen, leaving Sam stunned in his place.

“One might think that you got used to Gabriel's sudden decisions,” Death says.

“And one might be wrong.”


	13. Chapter 13

The flight had been calm and rather boring. Only Gabriel's constant shifting, touching Sam in one way or another, kept Sam from dozing off.

“I need to stop by my office,” Gabriel says when they climb up from the underground garage in a rented Mercedes. “I'm sorry, Sam. I wanted to take you home first and let you rest, but it's about two hours drive to my beach house and I have some urgent matters to attend to.” He manages to look apologetical, even if he has no reason to.

“It's okay, Gabriel. You don't need to apologize.”

“I don't,” Gabriel agrees, “but I want to. You've been a bit off since yesterday.”

Sam smiles wryly. “It's been two years since I last saw my brother. I didn't know if  we'd ever meet again or if I'd receive a phone call from the Military asking me to come take the...” His voice clips closed over the word. “I feel—“

“Anticipation,” Gabriel eases the word out like slotting a jigsaw piece into place.

“Yeah.” Sam unclenches his fingers from his knees. “I miss him a lot.”

And Gabriel understands. Deep down he understands that longing, even if it's painted in betrayal.

 

"What is this? Bring the puppy to work day?" Rowena almost coos in a sickeningly sweet voice when she sees Sam.

“Rowena, this is Sam,” Gabriel presents him and Sam goes for a handshake with a benign smile, but then Gabriel adds, “my boyfriend,” and Sam's eyes go slightly round.

Rowena ignores Sam’s extended hand in favor for what looks like an appreciative once-over. A bit of slime slides down Sam’s back and he catches the shiver before it becomes evident.

“Finally you bring a decent specimen!” she says. “Even the media had become tired of your string of bed partners. I cannot wait for the frenzy to start when they'll get wind of your… boyfriend.”

The smile on her sharp face is positively terrifying. Not unlike a shark's when he catches wind of blood.

Gabriel snorts as he heads towards a glass door. “This time they'll have to put in thrice as much effort to get to publish any photos of Sam.”

“Aw, already feeling protective of your precious boy?”

“'Course I do. You said it, he's precious,” he says and turns his smile towards Sam, throwing him a wink before pushing the glass door with his back.

Every seat is occupied around the oval glass table. Must be an important meeting, if Sam is to judge by the serious and contrite expressions on their faces. He blinks. Now what? Gabriel pretty much left him alone with his PA. What a fine boyfriend he got himself.

Rowena clears her throat subtly to get his attention.

“This way, Puppy,” she says as she leads the way towards a dark brown door at his back.

“It's Sam, actually.”

“Not with that face.”

She opens the door to a massive office, tastefully decorated. The smell of paper, ink and lived-in wafts over him.

“Whose office is this?” Sam asks rather dumbly.

Rowena lifts a perfectly trimmed eyebrow at him. She might be almost two heads smaller than him, but, except for Gabriel, Sam never met someone this petite who makes a large room feel small in comparison.

“I took you for the clever type. Clearly this must be a bad day, if you prove me wrong so early in the morning.”

Sam presses his lips closed and Rowena’s laugh sounds too put together, as if she learned to mask even that part of her.

“I would apologize for the lack of a TV, but I’d be lying. Besides, this is better than anything a TV could offer you as far as entertainment goes.” She goes over to Gabriel’s desk and pushes a button on the intercom over to the right. “Please, take a seat and enjoy.” Again, that sickeningly sweet smile, but he complies.

The meeting sounds like it’s already in full swing, but Sam feels as if Rowena holds precious information about his boyfriend that he might not be able to pry open from the aforementioned boyfriend.

“What is Gabriel?” he asks her, just as she passes him by.

She cocks an eyebrow. “You sleep with him and you don’t know?” She gives him another once-over, as if she needs to ascertain he isn’t a doppelganger or something.

“No, not in that sense. I know what his supernatural side is and that he owns a big company. Other than that… I’m in the dark.”

Rowena stares at him for a couple of seconds too long. “And you decided that I’d gladly offer you any sensitive information about your boyfriend that you could find out yourself if you only asked him?” She huffs amused and turns to leave.

“He isn’t exactly generous with information that goes anywhere near his past or himself.”

She stops in front of the door.

“That he isn’t.”

Another long pause, different and unknown voices talking over the intercom. She sighs.

“It’s not my place to say this, but you’ll find out sooner or later. You, my boy, are bedding one of the most powerful man on both sides of the nature this planet houses.” She turns to look him in the eye. “And this is the first time he brought a _boyfriend_ here. So mull that over.”

She leaves a stunned Sam in the middle of the spacious office. He swallows dryly. It’s not much as far as information goes, but the importance of it outweighs any amount he could have dug out himself.

He makes himself comfortable on Gabriel’s ergonomic chair, just as he hears Gabriel’s voice for the first time on the intercom.

“I'm sorry, did I stutter?” Gabriel asks, tone void of any emotion. Papers rustle faintly; a chair creaks. “Wasn't I clear enough about this the first time I spoke to you, Zach?”

“Yes, Gabriel, you were very clear, but not everybody agrees to this initiative,” he says somewhat haughtily even though Sam thinks that he didn't want to come across like that.

Pause. More papers rustle, one or two chairs creak softly in the background.

“And the arguments are?”

He doesn't get to finish the question before a storm of voices rise in a cacophony of sounds as if they're on the street protesting for the gay rights.

Sam doesn't understand much except bits of words here and there. They seem to think that it's too risky to invest in such a small enterprise, and that the company already has its eyes set on the far Asia, which is a fertile continent. From where Sam stands and from what little information he has, he fails to see their point.

Why would a small business hinder the plan that involves Asia?

Gabriel's deep chuckle silences them and Sam finds himself smiling in anticipation.

“Aren't you adorable when you get caught up in little details?” he says, the smile present in his voice. “You never stop sniffing big opportunities, which is why I hand-picked each one of you for the position you currently hold. But to cut the ego-stroking short, I assure you that we're not giving up the Asia affair.”

“We're too big a company for one such as,”  the woman pauses, “Hikin'&Travelin'. What can we do with it?”

“Expand,” comes the smooth reply. “Where you see a run-down agency, on the brink of bankruptcy, I see an opportunity. Where do you think it'll be in two years' time, Abaddon? With the right materials and a company like this to back it up? Are you seriously telling me, people, that you can't see the rewards we'd be getting from this? Not only as profits, but as publicity this company sorely needs.”

“Gabriel, in no time we'll be hit by a wave of contracts from such small… enterprises.”

How much disdain laced into that last word. A part of Sam would like to meet this person. But then again, he can do just fine without a face to that voice.

“Then you'd better prepare yourself, Ion, and put that nose of yours to good use,” Gabriel says implacably. “Ladies, gentlemen, non-binary. My decision is made. So suck it up and get a move.”

Which seems to be the wrong thing to say because another storm of protests raises and seems to be getting distant. Sam frowns. Just as he's about to check and see if the comm didn't break or something, the door to the office swings open and the protests reach Sam's ears before Gabriel swiftly closes it.

He sighs and smooths his suit jacket.

“So how was I?” he asks with a grin.

“Uh...”

Gabriel rolls his eyes.

“I know my PA well enough to know she put me on the comm.”

He comes to stand before Sam and Sam feels out of place sitting in Gabriel's ergonomic and all too comfortable chair.

“You were good,” Sam says and somehow Gabriel's grin dims. “I mean, you led them to believe that they still had a chance to convince you otherwise, but you just… played with them.”

The grin becomes shark-like and Sam shifts subtly in the chair. Gabriel catches the movement and steps between Sam's legs, spreading them with his own, hands on the chair arms.

“For all their ruthlessness, they're so gullible sometimes.” His breath ghosts over Sam's mouth and Sam swallows. “They make it too easy for me to pick on them.”

Sam surrenders when Gabriel captures his mouth, taking energy in increments.


	14. Chapter 14

 

He is slow to rise from the warm comforts the combination of pillow, mattress and the bed cover provide, but the silence surrounding him is suspicious.

There’s no Gabriel on the other side of the mattress and when he rises on his forearms and peaks over the mezzanine’s railing into the open space kitchen, he sees nothing remotely shaped like Gabriel.

The suspiciousness starts to climb a notch or two.

Something crinkles when he throws the cover to get out of bed. 

_Got called in at work. Nothing I won’t be able to get rid of in no time._

_Be back by lunch._

_P.S. Knock yourself out with whatever’s in the kitchen. And don’t hole yourself up in the library! There’s a beach outside waiting to be graced by your sexy body!_

_— G_

“ _Called in at work_ ,” Sam reads out loud with an incredible amount of doubt.

Since when does the CEO gets _called in_ like a simple employee? Maybe some other CEO, but not Gabriel. Still, the thought of a library somewhere in this villa tickles Sam’s inner bookworm.

He showers and brushes his teeth, then climbs down into the kitchen to make himself a sandwich. There’s no ingredient he can think of that’s missing from the fridge or pantry. Gabriel has the kitchen stoked with whatever they might require. He wonders absentmindedly who was tasked to replenish the pantry as he goes to explore the house with the sandwich secured on a plate.

In ten minutes he’s splayed on the white sofa, surfing the channels on the huge plasma TV, sandwich already eaten.

That’s when his phone alerts him of a new message. It’s a voice mail. 

“ _Hiya, Sammy! I tried to reach you yesterday, but it wouldn’t connect, so you either forgot your phone in some stinky, dark library or you’re engrossed in something. Anyway, I’m leaving L.A. right now, so we won’t be able to meet. See ya next time, Sammy!”_

He listens to the recording three times. Well, there goes the whole reason for this trip. He sighs dejectedly as he slides lower on the sofa, unable to impede the sadness from overwhelming him.

He brought his art supplies with him, but he’s so deep into his procrastination zone, especially now that he won’t be meeting with Dean anymore, that he didn’t even unpack his things. He probably should do that.

Now.

The sigh is a poorly disguised protest against what his reason tells him he should do. That’s the problem when one makes a habit of listening to that little voice in their head. It’s a fail safe to guilt-trip himself without even making an effort.

And then the crash happens.

His fingers still on his chest.

 

***

He slows to a stop right behind a police car parked in front of his house. The other two are on the other side of the road, empty like the first one. His brow furrows.

“Sir, I'm sorry, but you're not allowed in here. There's a police investigation going on inside, so I'm gonna have to tell you to leave the premises.”

Gabriel blinks down at the hand on his chest, stopping him from entering his own house. ( _Sam._ ) His eyes travel down the arm and then a little bit up to see the face of the poor schmuck who dared do such a thing (on _his_ territory).

“Leave the premises, you say.” His voice lowers to an Arctic tone. “Do you know whom this house belongs to? It belongs to someone named Milton. What did the Milton clan do throughout all these centuries for ya?”

He bores into the officer’s eyes, keeping his power in check; there’s no need for that when he deals with humans. Lower lip quivers; he smells fear (and a lot of perspiration).

“Build the first American road, the first aqueduct, the first clean power source, and w—they still help your industry develop. What name do you hear the most on the news when natural calamities happen and there's a desperate need for help of any kind? Who abolished hunger and instituted education in South Africa? Who made the same country the fourth power in the world?”

A short pause in which Gabriel stares down the trembling officer. (The satisfaction is nowhere near the level he’d prefer.)

“Granted, your government isn't so happy with the rise to the power of the same people you forced into slavery for centuries. Even to this day a lot of you do not see them as equals. So I'm gonna say this once: _never_ **_ever_ ** trespass on my territory, if you want to live a peaceful and uneventful life and have grandchildren.” The man swallows dryly, beads of sweat rolling down his face. “Do I make myself clear, _boy_?”

He nods jerkily and Gabriel takes pity on him and enters the house like he owns it (he does, actually, but let's just say that there's more puffing his chest out than is necessary).

 

He owns the room. There’s not a shadow of doubt about it. He expects Gabriel to meet his eyes as he heads his way, but Gabriel’s eyes zero in on something to his left—

“Officer,” Gabriel salutes, a brusque, almost imperceptible nod of his head as his arm slides seamlessly on Sam’s small back.

He has to give Gabriel a double take. Since when are we so possessive? But he chooses to let it slide for now; he’s curious to see where all this charade is heading to.

The officer takes Gabriel in, obvious displeasure at being interrupted from his monologue.

“Sir…?”

“Milton,” Gabriel says flippantly, not even bothering to offer a hand. The one on Sam’s hip tightens minutely. “Why’s my home invaded by your kind?”

Officer Harkin leans back a bit, swallowing hard. “Mister Milton, we’re sorry for the intrusion, but we—“

“I called them,” Sam interrupts, but Gabriel doesn’t even bat an eyelid, his attention doing wonders at reducing the officer into a trembling mess.

Moments of tensed silence pass between the three of them as four white costumed men pass them by with two unconscious men on stretchers.

“I want every single one of you out of my house in two minutes flat,” Gabriel commands, hard expression offering no other option for the officer. “And expect to hear from your Commander,” he says as everyone scurries away from the house.

“Gabriel, you're exaggerating!” Sam turns around to look at him, irked beyond measure by his behavior. “They were only doing their job.”

“My house isn't in their job description,” Gabriel responds dryly, looking up at Sam. “Actually, it's not even on their radar. Everything that happens here, on my territory, is dealt with by _my_ kind. But you had to involve them, anyway.”

Sam looks at him like he grew three other heads and they were talking to him.

“Gabriel, there were two unconscious men in your kitchen. What was I supposed to do? Wait for you to show up from wherever you went to?”

“ _Yes,”_ Gabriel hisses, features contorted.

Sam blinks. “You’re joking, right?”

Gabriel takes a steadying breath, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sam, you have to understand that the police can’t—are _prohibited_ by law to trespass on my kind’s property without the owner’s fully expressed consent. Not even a warrant will grant them access. We have our special law forces that will take care of everything there needs to be taken care of. There’s a silent alarm set up for the entire house that alerts my own squad, but I left it deactivated because you were here.”

“Then why didn’t you say this _before_ taking off and leaving me alone in your house?” Sam explodes, hands flying up and down.

“Because I’m not a fucking psychic!” Gabriel responds in kind. “How the hell was I supposed to know that some fuckers were gonna try their luck at stealing and my house was their fucking choice?”

“And since we’re here, let me get something straight with you,” Sam says. “I’m not part of your fucking _property_!”

Gabriel blinks twice, totally caught off-guard. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Sam retorts. “All that possessive display you put on back then with officer Harkin?”

(Ah, _that_ one.) He goes to the wet bar and pours himself a notch of blended scotch.

“Oh, so now we know all the poor shmucks’ names, do we?” Gabriel snarks maliciously.

“Unbelievable!” Sam pushes out the word, dumbstruck.

“Thanks.” Gabriel lifts his tumbler at Sam in acknowledgement and then empties it in one go. “It might not look like it, but I do try my best.”

Gosh, this infuriating man! This asshole! This damn jerk who flipped off the fuse just like that.

“I seriously want to strangle you right now,” Sam says, staring daggers at Gabriel.

For his part, Gabriel just opens his arms wide in invitation. “I’m at your mercy,” he offers.

If Sam ever saw a more challenging expression than the one Gabriel wears like an armor right now, he has a hard time recalling. God, if this man doesn’t make Sam actually take into consideration his own words as he marches straight towards Gabriel, determination marring his features.

His hands go where he tells them to; there’s pressure enough to feel the flutter of Gabriel’s beating heart, how it picks up in speed as Sam’s hands contract some more and then the pressure’s gone, replaced by hot lips against slightly chapped ones and tasting of scotch.

The kiss is brutal; he pushes Gabriel into the wet bar, glassware clinking and protesting behind the crystal glass doors. Gabriel whole-heartedly receives Sam into his arms, and his mouth, giving back as much as he takes.

“I’m still not convinced by your attempt at saying sorry,” Sam breathes against Gabriel’s kiss-swollen lips.

“I should say the same thing about how you forgive me.” He grins, entirely unrepentant and squirms deliberately against Sam’s thigh, pressed between his legs.

Sam’s response is an involuntary roll of his hips. The grin becomes wolfish and Sam bites lightly at Gabriel’s lower lip.

“I never said I forgave you and your dominant alpha show you put up back there,” Sam says against Gabriel’s neck, nipping and kissing.

“So I was that awesome,” Gabriel says, entirely smug. “Good to know.”

He grins when Sam looks at him ready to fire back something sour, but Gabriel kisses that sour look away, because sometimes Sam’s more lovable when his mouth is otherwise occupied.


	15. Chapter 15

 

“Don't fight me.”

Sam’s words fall into Gabriel's mouth, the kiss caught in limbo, as his hands are being held by Sam's bigger ones (he fights and fights the pressure, but Sam won’t fucking _budge_!) pressed firmly into the satiny pillows.

“Please, not now.”

Gabriel bites Sam's lower lip (retribution doesn’t taste as good as he expected) still trying to break off the grip.

“Gabriel, you don't have to take back control. It's okay.”

He looks at him, serious and determined. (The fight in him falters.)

“Let go. I'm here. I'll catch you.”

Pause.

The fight turns inward (he hates Sam a little for this).

“Let go.”

Sam whispers the words gently, honesty suffusing them and chipping away at Gabriel’s ironclad barriers; he feels them falling, piece by piece, and the vulnerability that will come threatens to overwhelm him.  The anguished sound that escapes his lips (it’s not his, he _swears,_ it’s never his) freezes Sam in place and  Gabriel — Gabriel regrets putting the worry on his face.

(It’s never that fucking easy; he doesn’t do regrets.)

Then his eyes fall on the mark he left on Sam’s neck; it faded to a dull red, his teeth marks still evident but less angry-looking. Fingertips flutter across it ( _mine_ ) the touch making it real, his ( _mine_ ). Sam closes his eyes at the contact, features going lax.

“I’m here,” he whispers, hand covering Gabriel’s (his defenses fall to pieces) and kissing his palm. “I’m right here.”

Gabriel studies his face for a couple of moments more (Sam’s expression is open and so wonderfully honest); he relaxes in increments. Sam’s not another lay, another warm body from which to feed. Sam’s different — and not just because he has his dick’s full attention (and submission); there’s more to this human than Gabriel can grasp right now.

His body welcomes Sam when he enters, slow and unrepentant. It drags along his inner walls and his muscles clench involuntary, fact that pulls out gasps from both of them. Sam pants above him (and isn’t the sight of him, a translucent sheen of sweat coating his face and chest, the best sight Gabriel ever saw in his miserably long life?), stopping his invasion to adjust himself, smile down at Gabriel, small and adoring. His fingertips caress his left cheek, tender and so unlike him, and Sam leans in to kiss him. Something in his expression must have sneaked through because the kiss doesn’t have any of the fiery passion and scorching lust their previous ones did; it’s tremulous and soft, barely a flutter of lips on lips, small and overflowing with feelings Gabriel is unable to stop from feeling.

(He wants to cry.)

The shudder wrecks his body and Sam groans against his mouth, a result of Gabriel’s walls clenching around Sam’s girth. Sam opens his eyes, and Gabriel is there, witnessing this because he couldn’t close his and lose himself in the various sensations Sam breaching him brought onto him.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks, worry creeping into his honest face.

(Why wouldn’t I be?)

(As if this is a hardship! Pfft, piece of cake, Sasquatch!)

(Have you met me? Of course I’m a-peachy!)

He nods, a jerk of his head that falls too far away from confidence to really look at his reaction too closely. Sam smiles, bright and beautiful and everything that makes Gabriel’s chest feel ten times smaller than it should be.

“I love you,” he says, and a wave of shock douses his senses, disconnecting for a split second the low thrum of arousal singing through and in-between every cell of his body.

Gabriel swallows. (Isn’t he a fucking piece of work springing something that colossal on a poor, handsome Incubus?)

He opens his mouth to— say something (or just to release cerebral heat, because boy can Sam work Gabriel up into a frenzy!) but nothing comes out and it doesn’t really surprise Gabriel. Being tongue-tied in certain crucial moments when Sam is involved starts to become a new reality, one that doesn’t bode well for Gabriel.

But Sam starts to move, out and then in, slow and steady as if he has all the time in the world and then some from another galaxy to turn Gabriel’s brain to mush and his ass hole into a case full of fireworks lit up at the same time. Whatever train of thought he was following until now, had been completely neutralized in the wake of Sam’s determined pace and lust-filled face.

Gabriel smashes their mouths together and finally becomes an active participant to their mind-blowing sex, hooking both legs around Sam’s hips and effectively changing the thrusting angle. Their gasps turn into moans when Sam’s cock reaches deeper inside Gabriel, and they can’t quite concentrate on the kiss, but they also don’t want to separate just yet so they breathe shallowly into each other’s mouths, eyes connected and pupils blown to high heaven.

The shock of Sam’s confession returns in increments and flashes and somewhere between Sam’s erratic thrusts and wonderful words brought as tribute to his body and himself, he realizes that something deep within resonated to those words like a hungry curse that has been waiting for the perfect opportunity to latch onto someone and never let go.

“Gabe, I’m close.”

The words are distant in his mind, even though they’re spoken against his ear. Sam is the first to tip over, thrusting deep and squeezing his eyes shut as his mouth goes slack on a silent cry and Gabriel follows suit, a cry wrenched from his chest as he comes untouched.

 

***

_He’s truly, completely mine._

The thought he first wakes up with swirls and spreads within him without much effort, leaving behind a warm feeling that he’s never felt before. He opens his eyes only to see skin — a lot of skin and warm breath fanning over the side of his head. He breathes in Sam’s scent and snuggles closer to the man who took him in every way that mattered last night.

 _(That_ was so gonna happen again!)

He kisses one pec which in turn has Sam tighten the protective cocoon he has made for Gabriel and Gabriel cannot help himself but trail kisses all the way to his jaw just to have Sam mumble incomprehensible things and turn them over so that all the hulk and bulk of Sam’s Adonis body lies on top of Gabriel.

“Oh no, darling,” Gabriel whispers to himself, planting a kiss to Sam’s temple as his other hand tangles in his mop of dark brown hair just because he can. “You’re not trapping me under you. I have to take that call or I’m gonna wet my own bed.”

Using a bit of his power, he swiftly gets out from under Sam without jolting and waking up the man. Biological needs taken care of, he pads barefooted in his silky bathrobe towards the kitchen to place an order with his favorite bakery. In about ten minutes it will arrive at his doorstep, so he sets his Italian coffee maker to do its job. Just as he puts delicious smelling coffee into two cups he picks up the crunch of sneakers on his gravel path and he goes to open before the teen knocks or rings the bell.

He wants it to be a surprise, but the soft, fleshy steps descending the iron stairs just as he closes the door with his order in his hands tells him half of it is ruined.

“That good was the sex last night that you feel the need to pump me full with sugar to thank me?”

Sam’s unable to keep the full brilliance of his grin at bay.

Gabriel’s blood experiences a loss of gravity and heads towards southern regions in 2.0 seconds flat. Vertigo is his new friend.

“I have another idea about what kind of pumping I’d like to do,” he says, a bit breathless as his gaze follows Sam’s every shift and pull of his muscles as he approaches him.

The chuckle finally fills his half-hard cock and he knows the box of delicacies obscures his hard-on because Sam’s gaze remains steady on his.

“Corny, but it’s on me.”

“Besides, darling, I can do better than this,” he says, moving into the kitchen, “if I were to thank you for the mind-blowing sex from last night. This is just me trying to spoil you rotten.”

“So we’re at pet names? Does that mean that I should call you sweetheart?”

“You cheeky bastard!”

Gabriel kisses Sam’s laugh into submission.

“Now, care to tell me about how you managed to incapacitate those two idiots? I want the unofficial story!”

He wiggles his eyebrows obscenely and Sam swaths his arm even as he can’t help the chuckles.

“Not before you tell me where did all that intimidating display come from. You looked like… something else.”

He takes Sam’s hand, turns it palm up and kisses his wrist, soft and lingering. This is more than he thought he’d be able to do, and his chest is heavy and hot all over, not used to such intimacy with someone else. Sex is easy. This — what he did — is not. When he peeks up, Sam’s looking at him with a bemused expression, as if he’s not sure if he should laugh at this or treat it seriously.

He doesn't know how important this gesture is, how much of himself Gabriel is willingly giving up to Sam. He doesn't know, because this is a custom only his family practice. It's old, it's true, and Gabriel never really paid attention to old customs. But this one, right here and right now, this feels like the right thing to do.

A vow.

(There won’t be any explanation forthcoming from Gabriel, that’s for sure.)

“You’re not getting out of this, you know?” Sam says, then takes his mug of coffee when Gabriel lets his hand go.

He looks at the hand he just kissed.

“Who said I was trying to get out of anything?”

The pastry is delicious and soft and just the right amount of sweet.

“So? Tell me. I’m sure there is a story there.”

Gabriel shrugs. “Once upon a time I was a judge on the Supreme Court back when it first established. Then Michael found me and I gave up. They didn’t choose another one to take my place, which is why now there are nine justices. End of story.”

He takes another one, not even wanting to see the kind of look Sam has right now.

“Now you,” he says, licking his fingers clean. “How did you beat those two nuckleheads? And don’t hold up on the details.”

Pause.

“The way you held up on details?”

Now Gabe looks at his lover, unimpressed eyebrow up there where unimpressed eyebrows usually are. He sighs and leaves half of the pastry on the tray, then goes to the sink to wash his hands.

“There’s not much to say about that period.”

“Who’s Michael?”

“My brother… or half-brother. My family is fucked up, so please don’t make me relive nasty memories. I was a judge, then I gave up, decades passed and here I am.”

Sam stares at him for a while, and when it’s becoming too much, Gabriel rolls his eyes and releases a long suffering sigh.

“When the first Supreme Justice was officiated, that’s when my folks were judged by the same laws as humans were. I was a judge at that point. Usually, before the Supreme Justice was a thing, people turned my folks to the nearby royal family to do justice. That wasn’t always the case.”

He sighs again, just because he likes making it know how much he’s not enjoying this. In case the monotone tone he uses for narrating the whole thing didn’t already tell Sam that.

“After a decade or so, the super side protested the fact that they were treated as humans and they weren’t, so all the royal families’ headmasters gathered together with the then USA president and the whole armada, and revised the human laws, adding special notes for the supers where necessary. They agreed that if a person of either side injuries gravely or kills one of the other side then that person will be judged according to the laws of the victim’s side without the need of the other side’s process. Anything else needs to pass through both sides’ courtrooms, if both species are involved.”

Sam nods, a pensive look on his face. At least he took this little story off his own chest, now he can enjoy pestering Sam.

“So? How about you? Quid pro quo, wasn’t it?”

“I didn’t do much. They came through the veranda door. I waited at the entrance onto the main floor, sucker punched the second one and then KO-ed the first one. Nothing to write home about.”

Gabriel chuckles, siding with Sam and hip checking him.

“Lemme be the judge of that.”

Sam glances sideways at him and snorts. “Yeah, I’ll let you be that,” he says, taking a cream-filled pastry and moaning his approval.

Gabriel grins, feeling satisfaction at the way Sam gobbles the second and then the third one.

“Stop looking so smug.”

“Why? It doesn’t look good on me?” Gabe says, wiggling his eyebrows.

He rolls his eyes and takes another bite.

“Did you meet your brother?”

Sam sighs. “No. He left L.A. this morning.”

“Damn,” Gabe says, frowning. “Want me to call his superior? I can get him to have you two meet at the next location he’s gonna be.”

Sam is shaking his head even before he finished the sentence.

“Won’t be necessary. Besides, Dean won’t take kindly to this.”

Gabe studies Sam’s face, trying to decipher if the fact that he doesn’t meet his eyes it’s because he’s lying or because he made peace with the thought that he won’t see his brother.

“The offer still stands,” Gabe says. “No matter when you decide to ask. Anyway, we’ll be leaving tomorrow. Unless you want to spend more time here.”

Sam shakes his head. “It’s okay. I don’t have any more reason to be here.”

Gabe presses his hands to his chest as if he’s been hit. “I’m not reason enough—”

He rolls his eyes and hip checks Gabriel, at which Gabe laughs.


	16. Chapter 16

 

"How do you know each other?"

A part of him expects them to share a look, like two beings that know each other well enough to do things at the same time, but what happens is the exact opposite: Death stares steadily at Sam and Gabriel is suddenly very interested in his kitchen's decorations he's seen a million times by now.

"We met through his brother," Death replies.

As soon as those words are out of his mouth, Gabriel's face darkens and he seems to tense and keep himself inhumanly still. The air around him surely looks frozen from Sam's position.

"How many years ago?" he asks reluctantly, the question directed at Death but eyes still on Gabriel.

"Centuries," comes Gabriel's dry reply.

Sam blinks, and without missing a beat, he reformulates, "how many centuries ago was that?"

"I lost count," says Gabriel quickly.

"Five centuries and four years," Death replies unperturbed and as eloquent as ever.

Gabriel's head shoots back to throw him an incredulous look, which shortly after morphs into reproach.

It irks Sam that Gabriel still doesn't trust Sam with his past or even himself. It might be because he didn't put their last conversation at his back, which - might he add - Gabriel cut short and rudely, or it might be because he actually doesn't like talking about his past. Either way, it still irks Sam that no matter what approach he tries, Gabriel stays a closed door to him.

Besides, Sam detects some bitterness between Gabriel and his brother, if the sour look at his mere mention can be held as proof. And since Sam has a brother of his own, with whom he used to fight often enough and go on days without speaking to each other, knows exactly how Gabriel must be feeling like right now.

The only dilemma here is that this bitterness they have seems to have gone for centuries and not just days or months.

This is what makes Sam impossibly curious to find out what happened in the past so bad that Gabriel resents his brother.

And Gabriel doesn't look eager to share anything, which leaves only Death as a possible source of information. Whom he might or might not recur to. Either way, it'll be difficult. Death's not someone who freely and willingly volunteers information. Although he might have success if he asks nicely and offers him a big tray of junk food.

Then again, Death has an astute detector for bribes, so deceiving Death becomes impossible, not to mention that it'd be a show of disrespect towards Death himself and their friendship.

“Was this around the time Michael came to you?”

This time Death’s calm expression acquires surprise, and he glances at Gabriel.

Gabriel, for his part, scoffs. “That’s my oldest. The other one, the one Death and I have in common is the youngest one.”

He’s expecting a name, but nothing else is forthcoming from Gabriel, so he looks at Death, but Death doesn’t say anything else, somehow choosing to keep that information for himself. Well, now. He lets the matter slide and busies himself with repairing the cupboard’s door that was hanging an inch lower than its twin.

 

***

Sam’s silently contemplating if Death would let him take the coffee maker apart to see how it looks on the inside, his inner kid wanting to have that kind of knowledge. But the machinery looks sophisticated enough to know the answer to his request. Not to mention that Death seems to have a soft spot for it. Yet, he’s in the middle of telling Sam how to use it.

“You know, this feels like you're saying goodbye,” he jokes, but when he looks up, Death is not smiling, not even with his eyes. “Oh.”

“You're pouring too much coffee powder in the filter,” Death says, hands closing over Sam's to stop the fall.

They’re warm and strangely soft, if bony.

He isn't deterred, though.

“Does Gabriel know?”

Death doesn't meet his piercing gaze for a few moments, but then he braves Sam with a carefully-knit mask.

“No.”

Sam swallows. “It'll break him.”

Death goes to sit by the window, hands carefully and firmly clasped at this back.

“Gabriel is not a fragile thing, nor a child anymore. My departure will not cause him any harm.”

“No, you don't understand—”

“Don't I?” He turns to look Sam dead in the eye. “I am the oldest being in Creation. Maybe even older than God Himself. Simple things as understanding another creature is second-nature to me.”

Sam smiles weakly, wistful glint catching in the light reflection in his eyes.

“No,” he shakes his head, “you really don't understand. He'll suffer.”

“Gabriel—”

“Has come to care for you.” Sam interrupts Death. “Centuries of being forced to live together by circumstances that were beyond your reach has created a bond between the two of you. It was bound to happen.” Sam takes a step forward, starting to gesticulate with his hands. “You know your ins and outs, you understand each other without needing words. What do you think this is?”

Death's mask doesn't crack. “Most of your kind call it marriage.”

Sam snorts a laugh. He can't help himself; the thought is ridiculously funny.

“What you have is not marriage. It crosses that notion. You forged a friendship that, I think, transcends what we know about it, what we can understand with our limited knowledge. You can't possibly believe that your departure will not leave a deep scar in Gab— in _our_ lives.”

Death contemplates Sam's words for a long time, so Sam turns around to see that his first pot of coffee is made. He pours them each a mug.

“You're not alone, Death,” he says, turning towards him and extending one of the mugs. “Not anymore.”

Death disappears for a couple of hours. He doesn’t see him anywhere in the house, but when he asks Gabriel about his whereabouts, Gabriel tells him that he’s around with Mist. He invites Sam to sit with him on the love swing on his back veranda, but Bucky is taking up the rest of the free space, so he refuses and goes inside.

He does meet Death in the kitchen, though, pouring himself another cup of coffee. Sam doesn’t say anything, giving him space as he goes for the fridge and takes the decanter filled with orange and carrots juice he made that morning. But just after he puts the juice back in the fridge and turns to take his glass, Gabriel appears at his side, takes his hand, palm up and kisses his wrist, this time looking up at him as he does it.

Sam frowns at this, still not sure if this is another of Gabriel’s eccentricities or he’s trying to tell Sam something.

“Gabriel,” Death says, “a word, please.”

Gabriel doesn’t break the eye contact; it’s Sam that does it as he takes a sip from his glass, following Gabriel’s retreating ass with his eyes.

He finishes his drink and opens one of the cupboards to take out the treats the hounds like— and are expecting, considering the way they sort of crowd him. He throws each one the chewing stick and is amused by the flawless little jump and catch they do. It’s nice to see them so comfortable around him; it makes Sam want to snuggle them both.

With a huff and a shake of his head he starts on the dishes, listening to the chewing chewing sounds. He’s drying a glass bowl when he spies something from the corner of his eyes and he turns at the same time as the hounds jolt up in front of him  and growl at the man, hackles raised.

There’s a stranger in the kitchen and Sam drops the bowl, eyes wide as he watches the stranger climb the island because Bucky and Mist lunge for him.

“What’s happening?” Gabe says as both he and Death enter the kitchen. “Samandriel? What the fuck are you doing?”

“Trying to stay alive, sir,” he says from where he tries to make himself as slim as possible in the middle of the island so that Mist and Bucky, who are already half on it, cannot bite him.

Then a wall of warmth plasters itself along Sam’s side.

“Are you okay,” Gabe says softly and Sam can’t help but be mesmerized by the fading filaments of gold that swirl in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. I was startled by— his sudden appearance. Nothing more.”

He nods once, but doesn’t take his eyes off of Sam for a bit.

“What is the nature of your visit?” Death ask.

“You are officially invited at the ceremony held at your ancestral castle where Ruby will marry Meg Masters.”

If it weren’t for the constant growling, Sam’s sure he would be able to hear the heartbeats of the hounds, both Death and Gabriel stilling.

“Leave,” Gabriel says, short and hard.

“With pleasure.”

Samandriel disappears the same way he appeared, and Gabriel leaves the kitchen without another word. Bucky follows his master, but Mist simply yawns and returns to gnaw her stick.

“What was that?” he directs the question at Death.

“That was Samandriel. The family messenger.”

He blinks and looks at the open doorway, then goes to the pantry and takes the vacuum cleaner to clean up the mess he made.

“So you’re invited to a wedding.”

“We all are.”

“I don’t think they know—”

“They know everything, Sam,” Death says just as Gabriel comes back, Bucky in tow.

“Pack your bags, Sammy,  we’re going to a wedding.”

“What?” This is too much to dump on Sam. This is where he draws the line. “I’m not going.”

“I need a plus one.”

“Death.”

Gabriel snorts, and even Death has the shadow of a smile on his face.

“Won’t work.”

“You didn’t even ask me.”

Gabriel stares at Sam as if he could convince him.

“Sam, would you like to be my plus one at my friend’s wedding?”

Sam narrows down his eyes, opens his mouth and he sees how Gabriel is prepared to argue his case because he knows what Sam’s about to say.

“Fine,” he says, and Gabriel blinks, taken aback. “I’ll need a wedding suit, shoes, change of clothes for a couple of days, and toiletries.”

Gabriel snaps his fingers. “Done.”

Sam and Mist stare at the duffel bag that appears on the kitchen floor, but between the two of them Sam is the one that sighs.

“Why do I even try to argue with you.”

Gabe grins. “Told ya it’s better if you give up and let me take control.”

Sam snorts. “You wish.” He takes the duffel bag and places it on the counter top to check if everything is inside.

“The suit will be waiting you at the castle,” Gabriel says.

“Of course. So where is it and how do we get there?”

He should have expected Gabriel to have a portal in his backyard. Remember those two oaks that were placed oddly and out of place before the shed? Well, now Sam knows why.

“Promise me you’ll be careful,” Gabriel says with a serious expression, just as the portal opens with a faint crackle.

Sam cocks an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I won’t be able to always be with you while we’re there, so you have to promise me that you’ll take care of yourself. That house is full of crazy.”

“Gabriel, what are you talking—“

But Gabriel kisses him and then whispers softly, “for my sanity, please promise me.”

Sam regards him quietly, then he sighs. “I promise.”

Gabriel’s whole face lights up. He tilts his head and steals another kiss from his lover before dragging him through the portal.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and the next 2 chapters have each a flashback scene at the beginning. But instead of going chronologically with them, I chose to go finish to start.
> 
> Now the fun begins! XD

**_Reading, present Redding, California_ **

**_1760_ **

Thunders boomed harshly, the tall windows trembling in their wood fixtures at the deep baritone. The wind howled and wailed outside, pushing and pulling at branches like a temperamental child, yet the earth was as dry as a bone.

Lightning lit his worried features in brief moments as he hurried to reach the other end of the poorly-lit corridor. The gut feeling had him all jittery, and the house couldn’t have been more maddeningly cavernous than it was in that moment. He loved living in luxury but some things were exaggerated even by his standards.

Like that stupidly long corridor that connected his wing to the central part of the mansion.

“Gabriel.”

His hand paused shy of a few millimeters above the doorknob.

“Did you find her?” he asked without turning.

“Yes.”

No intonation. No emotion.

Gabriel turned around to see Death’s gaunt features highlighted briefly by the lightning. There was nothing notable he could find in his expression, but when his eyes focused on Death’s...

“No.”

He shook his head, as if that simple word needed a physical reinforcement to make it real.

“She is—”

“No.”

Gabriel put a hand up to stop Death; his head shook in denial. This was just a stupid nightmare from which he had a hard time waking up.

He glanced at the off-white door. In his mind it burned hot; it was malicious and predatory. Only bad things hid behind its innocuous look. Death remained silent at his back, like a shield or a presence he could choose to either ignore or acknowledge.

He pushed the door open.

Time ceased for a while. A very _long_ while. His thundering heartbeat was the only thing that kept him from going bonkers. The sitting room didn’t look in the slightest bit disturbed. The fireplace was greedily consuming the logs that have been thrown inside at some point during that cold and humid evening, and the flames played with the shadows on the walls and furniture. All in all, it looked and felt like its last occupant left only moments ago.

_Lies!_

Only _one_ of them left. The other one was still there.

On the floor.

 _“No!”_ The syllable broke from his mouth in a heart-wrenching cry of agony.

_Dead._

In three steps he was there, kneeling beside her, lifting her lifeless body with trembling hands, and crushing her against his chest, lips pushing into her dark and voluminous mane, now disheveled.

Everything swam in his vision and warmth glided down his pale cheeks. How soul-breaking his agony was; how much his heart ached. Why? _Why?_ A never-ending mantra playing in his mind as he rocked back and forth with her dead weight, her cold cheeks, blue lips, lifeless eyes. _No, no, no._

“I’m gonna _kill him!”_ His eyes flashed a burning golden, charged with murderous intent; electrifying. The flames swelled and crackled in the fireplace, as if fueled by Gabriel’s anger.

For all intents and purposes, he was ready to tear down the _whole goddamn_ _house_ to get to him. Nothing, not even the family’s _headmaster_ was going to be able to stop his righteous fury. He’d burn down the whole land they owned and then tear him limb from hateful limb with no regard to their degree of relation or history.

The different bloody scenarios were playing in his mind on a loop, when a hand rested on his shoulder. That was when he realized that he had stood up and was staring daggers at the fireplace.

“Tragedy does not become you,” Death told him with the calm and patience of one who had lived millennia.

His hand didn’t burn hot on Gabriel’s shoulder. But its weight, much more real than everything he felt in that moment, was enough to temper down his rage. There was acquiescence into Death’s eyes, when Gabriel looked at him.

Avenging Kali was burning hot under his skin. He had the power to leave a blood trail behind him, he was fully aware of that. It was what kept the raging monster inside him coiled tight and smelling blood.

But that tumultuous night, Gabriel walked away.

 

“Be careful when you move about the house,” Death tells him, just as Sam’s world rights itself.

“What do you mean?”

“The house has a will of its own.”

Sam blinks, perplexed, at the retreating back of Death, then looks at Gabriel whose face holds the same expression soldiers do before the war breaks. He finds Gabe’s hand and squeezes once, which brings the man back to him. There are no filaments of gold swimming in his eyes, but there are shadows and a past that seems to dwarf his lover just by standing on the same ground as the imposing castle.

“Are you okay?” he says, feeling Bucky between them and Mist at his side.

He opens his mouth, but then closes it with a frustrated press of his lips.

“No, no, I’m not.”

“Do you want to go back?”

He shakes his head. “We came here. We might as well get this over with as soon as possible.”

“When’s the wedding?”

“In three days time.”

“So three days and two nights.”

He nods. “After the ceremony we hightail it.”

Sam smiles, leans down and kisses him. Gabriel’s hand comes to lie on the side of his neck, taking the kiss as if it’s the only thing that can give him strength. When they separate, Sam’s frowning at him.

“You didn’t take anything.”

The smile is lopsided and humorless on Gabriel’s face. “It’s okay. I don’t need to feed. I don’t think I could stomach anything right now.”

Sam stares at Gabriel as he stares at the castle, a black, imposing thing with five turrets of faded red shingles and whitish hues when the sun hit it right, then squeezes his hand and starts forward, pulling Gabe with him.

There's a warm, almost giddy feeling Sam feels when he steps inside the house, Gabriel a step in front of him, as if something or someone has been expecting him for a lifetime. Looking around at the high-vaulted ceiling and the old-fashioned ornaments placed around a checkered floor, he has a sort of déjà-vù, although no sense of being there before assaults him.

“Hey, are you okay?” Gabe asks, plastering himself to Sam’s side, one hand cupping his cheek.

Concerned eyes are studying his face and Sam has to blink multiple times to make the feeling go away.

“I’m not sure. A weird feeling overcame me when I stepped inside.”

Gabriel narrows his eyes. “Must be the house,” he murmurs, then looks down. “You might want to let go of Mist.”

Without meaning to, he seemed to have taken Mist by the scruff. But what’s more confusing for Sam is how close the hound is sitting at his side— or how Bucky wedges himself between them, to Gabriel’s befuddlement, and sits by Sam’s leg, his flank glued to Sam’s.

“Where’s Death?”

He heaves a heavy sigh. “He’s probably somewhere around the house— reminiscing.”

A maid curtsies at them. “Welcome home, master Gabriel. Shall I take your and your guest’s coats? Gregory will be here in a moment to take your luggage upstairs. Your rooms have been prepared already, so you can rest after your journey here.”

Sam won’t even spare brain power parsing through that and applying logic to it. Better to take things in stride.

“We don’t have much luggage,” Sam says. “Just two duffel bags that I can take them upstairs myself.” He turns to Gabriel with a serious expression. “Gabriel, can I have your coat?”

He might be breaking some unwritten servant rule, but he’s never had to deal with such customs and he won’t be intimidated by the surrounding opulence or the royal air hanging low with these people.

Gabriel smirks and shrugs off the coat, playing along.

Just then, a man descends the red-carpeted stairs and the maid bows and retreats to one side. The man is tall, dark haired and blue-eyed, donning what looks like a successful mesh of Victorian and modern fashion. His chiseled face gives him a grave air about him.

“Gabriel, welcome home,” he says, stopping mere steps in front of them, then his cold gaze finds Sam and a shiver runs down his spine, feeling his non-existent hackles rising. “And you must be Sam Winchester, the man I’ve heard so much about.”

Gabriel scoffs and rolls his eyes as Sam lifts an eyebrow. So this is where Gabriel gets his holier-than-thou attitude from. His hand finds Mist’s scruff, finger massaging the place idly.

“Most certainly not from Gabriel,” he says with no intention of offending anyone, because it’s true. There’s a little smile Gabriel doesn't seem to be able to control on his face at that. “You’re— Michael, Gabriel’s older brother.”

He doesn’t seem put off by Sam’s brash way of talking or addressing him, and he inclines his head regally at that.

“On behalf of Ruby, who is not present today, I must thank you for choosing to be a part of this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gabriel says, taking a step forward so that now he’s standing shoulder to shoulder with his brother. “Drop the formalities. We won’t be staying long. Is he still here?”

Michael glances sideways at him. “He is. Hope that won’t be a problem— for everybody involved.”

Gabriel scoffs just as a blonde woman descends the stairs with a cheeky smile on her face.

“As long as he stays away from me, there won’t be any problems.” He turns towards the woman. “Meg, you sneaky weasel, when were you going to tell me that you’re marrying fucking Ruby? When the hell did you two even meet?”

She huffs as she comes and hugs him. “As if I don’t have a personal life outside of my work. We met like everyone meets. In a public space.”

Michael’s staring at Sam, though, and it’s becoming a bit unnerving, as the two continue chatting just behind the man. He’s as imposing as the house; a hardness to his features that seems impossible to break. Then Mist stands up and growls weakly, which instigates Bucky, and the chatting stops.

“Buck,” Gabriel says, short and commanding, and the hound’s growl peters off into a whine before he licks his snot and sits down.

“I think it’s best if I take them and our things upstairs.”

“Yeah,” he says, searching Sam’s face. “Arya, could you please show Sam the way to my rooms?”

“Right away, sir,” she says, then starts to move towards the stairs, stopping to look back at them.

Sam takes Gabriel’s coat and the two duffel bags and trails after the maid until he can’t hear anything, but silence and their softened steps. He looks outside the tall windows as they head towards a heavy wood door and thinks that the pressure on his chest is due to the tension he feels in the air. Mist and Bucky don’t leave his side even when he’s inside Gabriel’s room.

 

***

Death appears back on the main floor — not visible to everybody — after reacquainting himself with the house. For all intents and purposes, it’s an old friend. They’ve both been through a lot at the hands of the Milton family.

"Where did you pick him up?" Lucifer asks, as he leans on the door frame of the sitting room. "He's almost too good for you."

Michael sighs. “Behave, you two,” he says, before he disappears into the dining room that leads to his office.

If Gabriel had an animal form right now, his hackles would have been raised and fangs exposed in warning. Neither acknowledge Michael’s words or Meg’s silent “oh, shit”.

"Certainly better than Kali," Lucifer continues, returning his gaze on Gabriel's angry one.

"I'm only gonna warn you this once, _brother,"_ the sarcasm dwarfs that last word, "stay **_away_ ** from Sam."

The glint of amusement blooms in Lucifer's eyes. "I assure you I don't intend to kill Sam. I told you he's better than Kali. In more ways than one."

Gabriel narrows his eyes, but Lucifer's smirk stays frozen on his lips. He takes two steps, placing himself in Lucifer’s direct line of sight.

"Don't say I didn't warn you, if they find you in a pool of blood," he comments in a glacial tone, before turning on his heels and following on Sam's trail.

He doesn't see the dimming smile and broken look on his brother's face.

But Death does.

 

***

He takes the stairs two at a time, figuratively washing away the vile taste in his mouth. His legs can’t get him to his room faster. The moment he closes the heavy door at his back, he exhales and closes his eyes. The fire crackles in the hearth and for a precious minute he simply drinks in the three heartbeats in the room.

(Safe, warm, home.)

“Gabe, you didn’t tell me you have—” Sam is saying as he comes into the room from the adjacent one. “Are you okay? You’re— pale. Did something happen with your brother?”

He makes a beeline for Sam, needing to feel his arms around him, the warmth, the strength, the love. Just before Gabriel manages to take hold of one of Sam’s inviting hips, two knocks on the door freeze him inches away. He opens up to find Death and a request for his presence to a meeting.

“Go on,” Sam says, when Gabriel looks torn at him, then he pulls off his jeans and stands in his underwear in the middle of the room; Gabriel’s one piece of clothing away from refusing the meeting with Michael. “I just discovered you have a clawfoot tub, so I’m gonna take advantage of that.”

Gabriel sighs theatrically. “Betrayed for a tub! What has become of my life.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, fluttering a hand. “Go do whatever you need to do.”

There’s not much Gabriel can do, but leave his delicious boyfriend and waste precious time catching up with the family business. Which isn’t much, since they mostly live off of their past, but Michael is such a pain in the ass with his decorum and stupid meetings. Still, as the third in line, Gabriel has to obey the headmaster’s word. At least to show good faith so that they won’t be on his case once he leaves.

But before he disappears, he takes Sam’s hand and kisses the inside of his wrist, keeping the eye contact during the whole process.

 

***

He comes to the door when Gabriel disappears, taking Death in.

“Are you doing fine?”

Death stares at Sam. “I am.”

Sam narrows down his eyes. “You don’t look like it. Want to come inside and talk?”

At this death lifts an eyebrow. “And risk having the servants gossip about how you invite men into Gabriel’s room in nothing but your underwear?”

He looks down at his bare legs, then turns a cheeky smile on Death. “Don’t worry, my fair lad, you’re honor is safe with me.”

Death’s mouth twitches. “It’s not my honor that I’m worried about.”

That has Sam burst into a sudden and surprised laugh, of which Death only allows a small smile to mirror it.

“I am doing well, Sam. You don’t have to worry about me.” He turns, but then he looks back at Sam. “And don’t forget that the house has a will of its own. I suggest you don’t wander around at night.”

“Why?”

“Because you never know where you might end up.”

With that he leaves Sam trying to parse through those cryptic words. He should really ask Gabriel what’s wrong with the house, and why they keep warning him about it. But those are problems for later. Right now, he has a very important mission. Mist and Bucky follow him lazily as he discards piece of clothing after piece of clothing on his way towards the bathroom.

The clawfoot tub looks out of an antique-and-very-expensive magazine and Sam’s sending gratitude to whoever had the wonderful idea of inventing them. It stands solitary in the middle of a black granite room with golden fixtures and a golden hearth. The tub is the only piece of white sunshine in an otherwise dark room.

The water is the perfect temperature to have Sam melt into it and let himself float in a haze of bliss for a long time.

“I like it when you’re all relaxed in something that once belonged to me,” Gabriel whispers and Sam doesn’t jump five feet into the air, but he sucks in a surprised gasp, sending ripples across the calm water.

Gabriel chuckles in his ear and kisses his cheek after nuzzling into it like a big cat.

“I expected you to be gone longer,” Sam says, watching as Gabriel travels the length of the tub, index finger tracing the rim of it all the way to Sam’s propped legs.

As gorgeous and out-of-this-time as the tub looks like, it couldn’t fit all of Sam’s six feet and the myriad of inches that came attached to them. The smile on Gabriel’s face takes on a mischievous glint as his hands come to rest on either side of Sam’s legs.

“Nothing and nobody could keep me away from seeing the image of you in my tub.”

Sam bites his lower lip, already feeling his length stir underwater. The foot massage Gabriel regales him with is nothing short of a major turn on. Nimble fingers slide and press certain points on the sole of his foot, gaze a hungry hawk in disguise, preying on every twitch in Sam’s expression, and the pressure is just on the right side of delicious. Sam glides deeper into the water, head leaning on the edge of the tub, lower lip perennially abused by his upper teeth and hands in a tense-relaxed play on the rim. Surreptitiously, Gabriel’s hand slides along his ankles, dipping into the water and applying gradual pressure just up of the underside of his knee and a breathy moan leaves Sam’s ajar lips.

In no time, Sam’s length crests the surface of the water as his hands flex, trying to keep himself under control and failing as if Gabriel was born to turn him inside out with a simple foot massage. Fabric brushes over his knuckles compelling his black-imbued eyes to emerge from beneath his eyelids and he might as well hadn’t bothered to look at that devouring, lustful look on Gabriel face.

Gabriel clicks his tongue when Sam’s hand dips into the water, intent on relieving his aching cock from the building pressure, even though one of Gabriel’s hand cups the inside of one of his thighs, so close to his cock and yet so far.  

“No touching what’s mine,” Gabriel orders, tendrils of a growl licking at his usually smooth voice.

A moan escapes Sam in response and with a herculean effort he returns his arm on the rim of the bathtub.

“Please, Gabriel,” Sam says, opening his eyes again. “Please touch me more.”

His eyelids slide shut again just to open them a split second later and have Gabriel inches away from him, hunger swirling around in his eyes.

“Beg me more,” says Gabriel against his lips and Sam has no shred of dignity to stop the needy voice arising from his chest and spreading between his lips, _“please.”_

“That’s my perfect, brilliant and utterly gorgeous boy,” he praises, taking his lips into a scorching kiss just as his hand wraps around Sam’s length and strokes once, twice and he’s a goner.

Gabriel continues his ministrations for a couple of seconds more before his hand moves upward, skimming Sam’s soft abs, taking his mouth into a crushing kiss, full of passion, but also tenderness and love. Sam’s floating and drowning at the same time.

“I want you,” Sam whispers against his lips. “I want you in my mouth!”

“You know just how to rile me up, hm?”

But Sam already does fast work of the belt buckle and Gabriel devours his mouth yet again, not taking as much as an ounce of Sam’s energy, even though he feels it thrumming so tantalizing a hairbreadth away from him. Sam pulls him towards him and Gabriel gets the idea, climbing into the tub without breaking contact with Sam’s lips, straddling his legs as Sam finds and pulls out his dick, stroking it underwater.

Gabriel gasps in his mouth, losing the momentum of the kiss just as Sam bends his leg and pushes Gabriel into his chest, soaking his white shirt just like his denim.

“Up,” Sam says, breaking the kiss and swaying their heads back and forth to try and catch each other’s mouth again, but managing nips here and there.

Gabriel’s dazed look, blown up pupils and rosy cheeks brings Sam’s dick back to attention. He manages to maneuver them so that Gabriel can sit on the rim of the tub and Sam bracketed between his open legs. There’s a moment in which they look at each other, just breathing, Sam being mesmerized by the golden electricity swirling into Gabriel’s dark, dark eyes, uneven breath and clinging wet shirt to his erect nipples and soft stomach.

He wants to bite it and hear Gabriel’s gasp, but he has another dish waiting for his undivided attention and he goes right to the task, swallowing him so slow and intense that Gabriel’s grip in his hair tightens to the point of being painful. The short gasp and fast intake of breath lessens the pain as satisfaction suffuses him.

He did this, he brought this incredible man to the point that his whole focus is on his dick and the mouth enveloping it.

Once he starts bobbing his head, reality becomes a fuzzy, pleasant thing in his mind, concentrated as he is on the way Gabriel’s dick feels in his mouth, the way his fingers flex in his hair, the little aborted moves his hips do, the shuddering breathing coming from above interspersed with incoherent babble, and the fact that he is now fully erect, water swaying around his own dick in time with their movements and making matters worse than they should be.

“Sam,” Gabriel gasps. “Sam, I’m close.”

He already felt it, but he still goes on for another couple of seconds, one of the hands that held Gabriel’s hips in place slides upwards and hooks his index finger in the gap left open by the second button of the shirt, pushing down and having a feel for the sturdiness of the third button. Soon after, he pulls down with force, breaking the hold of the button until Gabriel’s chest and stomach are fully uncovered.

Without warning, he pulls up and bites hard on Gabriel’s stomach, just above his navel, and Gabriel comes on Sam’s chest, crying out.

There’s only their harsh breaths filling the space in the bathroom and when Sam leans back and looks up, he’s swallowed up by what he sees in Gabriel’s eyes, in his intent gaze, in the way he feels his fingers massaging his scalp tenderly.

“You’re the best thing that happened to me in a long while,” Gabriel says.

 

***

Sam had a hard time stifling the laughs when the moment they got into the bed, Mist and Bucky jumped up after them, the latter stretching his body between Sam and Gabe, while Mist was content to stretch between then near the foot of the bed. Gabriel had grumbled so much when Bucky simply wiggled his tail when he received the command to move his butt over to their expensive dog beds.

He placated his lover by telling him that they were restless because of the new place, so they should share the bed that one night. The way Gabriel hesitated before agreeing said a lot about the incubus and how much he let other people have their way with him.

For some reason, Sam fell asleep much later, although Gabriel was snoring softly on the other side of the huge bed ten minutes after they fell silent. He hadn’t been sure why he had trouble sleeping, seeing as he was comfortable, satiated, and he felt safe with that many bodies in the bed. At one point Mist lifted her head to stare at Sam when he turned towards Bucky and tried to calm his mind.

The only problem is that he isn’t in his bed, but in a settee reading a book. His eyes try to focus on the words, but there’s something else pulling his attention away. The library is vast; shelves disposed in a fan shape, suffused in darkness, though there is enough light coming from the window that he can read.

The walls creak and the presence of Mist has Sam at his side before he can blink.

_What is hidden must be revealed._

She’s looking intently at him as they walk down a dark, old hallway.

_What is hidden must be revealed._

The flame from his torch doesn’t create shadows on the walls or on the floor. When he looks down Mist is not there, but the door is in front of him, and then the growls and whines come from behind him, and he’s torn between seeing what’s on the other side and turning to Mist.

_Must be revealed—_

“Morning, my lovely Sasquatch,” Gabe murmurs against his forehead.

But he’s on the wrong side of the bed. When Sam blinks one eye open, Gabriel’s standing, fully clothed in a black knitted sweater and black denim.

He grumbles something, yawning, and Bucky comes closer and licks his face.

“Rise and shine, love,” he continues, amusement and fond intertwining. “In twenty we need to get down to have breakfast.”

“Mhm. Five more min—” He turns towards the hound and burrows his head beneath the comforter.

“Oh no, love,” hands grabs his shoulders and pull back to Sam’s loud whines. “What’s this? Didn’t you sleep well last night?”

“Sorta,” Sam says, making peace with the fact that he won’t be able to fall back asleep, so he scrubs the sleep away from his eyes. “Fell asleep harder than usual.”

Gabriel sighs in sympathy and places another kiss on his forehead, lingering, and then two more down his temple and cheek.

“Come on, you’ll take a nap in the afternoon. Did I tell you that we have a huge library somewhere in this cavernous place? Hm, I should introduce you to Joshua. He’s taking care of it at the moment.”

Somehow, Sam knows what he’s talking about, but he’s still not fully away so he makes a noise of assent before he gets out of the bed, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth before going to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And sorry for taking this long to update. Uni started and my muse wanted to finish the other WIPs I had started in other fandoms.


	18. Chapter 18

**_Reading, present Redding, California_ **

**_1669_ **

His hands were poised at his shoulders level, both inches away from touching the front door's frame, both dripping blood from the cuts he inflicted on them.

Death stared at him, expressionless. Clad in his dark robes and with the gaunt face he looked so other-worldly and old; both imperfect and all too fitting for the world Gabriel lived in. He didn't beg his captors for mercy, didn't show any trace of emotion on his face, but kept staring at Gabriel, majestic, untouchable. The spacious hall, with its checkered marble floor, pristine, but for the black lines tracing the shape of each square, was swept by the restless wind outside, bringing in the autumn's dead leaves to dance mindlessly around Death.

He didn't break the eye contact with this ancient being Lucifer bind to himself and, as soon as he places his bloodied hands on the frame, to the castle, too.

Gabriel was just as much the victim here as Death was. He never consented to this, but to perform this binding there needed to be three, all tied by blood. So complicated these ancient rituals. Why couldn't they have just kept it at the convoluted words that looked more like tongue-twisters in made-up languages?

They had to involve blood.

"Gabriel, hurry!" Michael's voice carried across the hallway all the way from the other side of the castle. It was urgent and impatient. He wasn't enthused to take part in this ritual, either.

Gabriel couldn't see him or Lucifer. The V-shaped staircase was in the way.

And Death at their feet.

He swallowed. Why did he feel like he wasn't allowed to break the eye contact? Why was Death torturing him more than he was already torturing himself with this stupid ritual Lucifer gave them no choice but to join?

 _I'm sorry,_ Gabriel mouthed soundlessly at Death before his palms pressed against the frame. A hollow crack traveled along each and every wall in the castle, echoing like dry wood groaning under an impossibly heavy weight. Death didn't lower his gaze, not even when fizzling, distorted snake-like filaments of light gathered from every corner of the house and seeped into Death.

He didn't flinch, although it must have hurt so much words wouldn't have been able to describe it.

He didn't blink. His body trembled from the sudden input of binding magic and the filaments binding his hands flashed in and out.

Death's eyes held no blame for Gabriel. Just bottomless sorrow and patience.

It broke something in Gabriel he just knew he wouldn't ever be able to mend.

 

Breakfast had been an intimate affair between the two of them, but lunch is another matter. It seems like every seat at the table is filled in by people Sam has never seen. Except Meg and Michael, that is. The others are complete strangers, although he can guess that the woman whose sharp smile either promises pranks or torture next to Meg is Ruby.

There’s only one place at the table that remains empty for the whole time they’re eating: the one at Michael’s right, next to Ruby. Gabriel’s at his left, followed by Sam, a dark skinned man and two or three other people Sam supposes are part of the family in some way or another.

“Shouldn’t we wait for everybody to be here?” Sam asks Gabriel quietly when they all start to eat after Michael takes his seat.

Gabriel frowns at him, then looks around and when his gaze lands on the empty chair, he returns to his broth.

“Nah. We’re fine.”

He opens his mouth to prod for more because there’s a story there Sam’s not privy to when his attention is pulled away by someone else.

“So, Sam, was it?” Ruby says and when Sam meets her gaze, she’s smiling as if she knows something about him he doesn’t. “Meg’s told me you’re my cousin’s lover.”

“Boyfriend,” Gabriel chimes in without even looking at her.

The smile sharpens. “Boyfriend. How do you find life with him? He’s awful to be around, right? Come on, you can tell us. We’re basically family.”

Gabriel snorts and Ruby’s eyes narrow down on him. Michael and the others don’t seem to pay attention to this discussion, and Sam is feeling as if somebody kicked him into a boat without oars and left him to the mercy of the underwater currents.

“It’s nice.” Everybody quiets down. Maybe that isn’t the kind of answer he should have given. “I mean, I’ve never sat down and thought about it, but I’m enjoying the turn my life took since I met him.”

“Well, everybody’s life takes a turn for the better when they manage to win Gabriel’s favor.”

This is when Gabriel stiffens at his side. The glare he sends her has filaments of gold slithering in it.

“Do you want me to officiate your wedding or not?”

Her eyes turn completely black, the amusement replaced by the shadow of a snarl.

“You won’t jeopardize my wedding, Gabriel.”

“Keep pushing all the wrong buttons and I will. Sam’s here because he agreed to come, not because I bought his time or he feels it’s his duty as my employee to do whatever I tell him to. That’s as much as you’ll get out of this. What’s between me and him is none of your damn business, so keep your curiosity in check.”

There’s a tense moment in which no one moves (except Michael who continues to eat his broth), until Ruby’s eyes return to normal and she sketches a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Fine,” she says and she would have added more, but is interrupted by somebody else.

“You know that what you’re doing is a breach of contract, right?”

Gabriel turns his sharp, cold smile towards the boy (really, he doesn’t look older than fifteen or sixteen) down several seats on the opposite side of the table.

“Don’t ruffle your feathers, Inias, I’m not breaching any kind of contract.”

Sam frowns at Gabriel as somebody else starts a tirade of how annoying contracts are and how the world became a big cluster of bureaucracy and other things Sam ignores.

“What did he mean?”

Gabriel takes a sip of his wine. “When you have a human in your household the contract you have states that no affairs between the employer and employee are allowed other than strictly what the human is there for. That comes from the fact that most supernaturals would feed upon their employees because it’s their right as their bosses, but also because that, too, for some jackasses, means work the human was employed for. So to protect them, you get that kind of contract.”

“There was nothing on that in the one Death showed me.”

“That’s because strictly speaking you answer to Death even though my name is on the contract.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, I know, but you’d get yourself migraines trying to figure out the workings of the supernatural world. The many connotations and in-between the lines that’s going on is astounding. Even I don’t know everything. But rest assured, what we do isn’t illegal. You’re employed for helping around the house, but mostly to keep Death company. What you do — or who you do in your free time is your own business.”

Sam shakes his head, still trying to wrap his head around this. Strictly speaking, from his side, it looks like they’re doing exactly what the guy — Inias — accused Gabriel of, but if you add the subtext and other inner workings that he wasn’t privy to, then— he’d simply have to get the contract and read it once again with Gabriel present so that he can explain anything in-between and around sentences.

It’s only when he glances up with the intention of studying the guy who spoke that he meets Ruby’s narrowed gaze.

“I’ll let you keep your secrets, cousin,” she says as if she hasn’t been interrupted. “It’s not like I can’t find out what I want to from other sources.”

“Not me,” Meg chimes in, looking at Gabriel then at Ruby. “I’m not gonna help with that.”

“Traitor. What’s the point of having a spy as wife if I can’t use her knowledge to my advantage?”

“Oh really, sugar? So that’s why you proposed to me?”

The banter goes on for a while, other people butting in with some remark or other, but Gabriel remains silent at his side.

“Is everything all right?”

“Hm? Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Sam sighs inwardly, and when he looks up he finds Michael watching him intently. Nothing comes out of it because the second course is served and the conversation takes less amiable paths. He knew each family had feuds and petty grudges, but this one threw death threats across the table like they were in a bazaar and they wanted to attract customers with the most outlandish offers possible.

“I hope you’re enjoying your stay here, Sam,” the man next to him says, which startles Sam as he takes a bite of the duck with prunes he took a chunk of.

“Yeah, I think so,” Sam says at a loss for words.

He kicks Gabriel under the table.

“Right. Where are my manners. Sam, this is Joshua, our family’s library caretaker. If you need anything from it or if you have any questions about our family’s history or history in general, he’s the guy to ask. Helped me pass my history exam in uni.”

A warm smile crests Joshua’s lips and Sam finds himself mirroring it.

“Nice to meet you. Gabriel’s told me about you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine. And I know that Gabriel doesn’t like to talk about his family, so I don’t think you’ve heard a lot about me.”

His gaze finds his plate, unsure if honesty would be okay as an answer, but he doesn’t get to ponder it too much because the tall doors to the dining room open to admit a man with messy blonde hair dressed in clothes Sam has only seen in the paintings hung all around the hallways.

The hush that follows makes his steps sound louder than they normally would. He takes the empty place at Michael’s right just as he leans forward to take a slice of bread and spread cream cheese on it.

“Took you long enough to decide to join us,” Michael comments as he finishes the last of his meal with the bread and cream cheese.

“Just in time for dessert,” the man says.

Sam looks around at the people who have stopped eating— and breathing, their attention on Gabriel who became a statue at his side. His hand sneaks beneath the table cloth to caress his knee in an attempt to make him snap out of it. This is so unlike Gabriel that Sam is equal parts worried and unsettled.

Gabriel takes the handkerchief and dabs his mouth, then pushes his chair back and stands.

“We shall take our dessert upstairs,” he announces, then proffers his hand, palm up near Sam’s shoulder. “Sam, please join me.” Then he nods towards Michael and Ruby. “If you’ll excuse us.”

And Sam’s not sure what just happened, but he gathers that he won’t have an explanation unless they’re behind closed doors, so he accepts the hand even though he didn’t finish his duck.

“Now you need to tell me what happened down there?” Sam says, watching Gabriel pace in front of the fireplace as if he’s trying to dig a hole in the marble floor.

His hand is propped on his hip, standing in the middle of the room and waiting for an answer. This time he won’t let Gabriel dismiss the topic.

“Family issues, Sam,” he says with a nasty smile. “I’m sure you had those aplenty.”

Sam’s not impressed his quirked eyebrow says. “This is not my usual kind of family feud. Not after the dude down three seats promised carnage to the woman across from him.”

Gabriel snorts. “That would be Zachary repeating a century old threat towards Naomi. He’s too much of a coward to act on his words, although several attempts on Naomi’s life have happened over the last decade, so I’m starting to believe that he’s growing the second ball.”

Sam’s attention remains resolutely on Gabriel’s face.

He sighs. “Fine. The guy that joined us last is Lucifer— my half brother.”

“Oh. And what happened between you two for you to not be able to share a meal with him?”

“Death happened, Samsquatch.” Again that nasty smile, as if he made a pun that’s funny in the horror it translates.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Gabriel shakes his head and turns towards the hearth just as the knock on the door announces their dessert.

“Sam.” Gabriel stops Sam from going to open the door. He doesn’t turn around to meet Sam’s gaze. “I forbid you to engage in any kind of conversation or be alone with that— monster.”

Sam opens his mouth to protest, but then he thinks better of it as, considering everything, Gabriel doesn’t seem to be the kind of supernatural to use that word lightly. It is the gravest insult one can bring to a super in this day and age, something that can get you court martialed.

He sighs, it’s the most he’ll give Gabriel, and then goes to open the door.

 

***

It’s early afternoon and not long after their talk that Sam leaves their room, Mist and Bucky in tow to go explore the castle. Even when the only thing he hears is his steps on the marble floor, it still feels like the walls around him move, as if they’re breathing or swaying slightly. It’s a tad unnerving, but the hounds seem completely at ease and unbothered by it, and the foreign, giddy feeling has not left Sam since he entered the castle.

At one point, when he reaches the end of the hallway that connects Gabriel’s quarters to another room (he should have gone left when the doorway towards the stairs appeared, but the closed door at the end piqued his curiosity), and touches the doorknob, whispers and a feeling that has the fine hairs of his neck raise, makes him turn on his heels at once.

Nobody’s there and when he looks down, the hounds simply look back at him, patient like they always are.

He sighs and shakes his head, choosing to return to the passageway instead of seeing what’s behind the door. For a house that big, he’d expect lots of people milling around to keep things in check, but he doesn’t encounter one soul as he reaches the foyer. He wonders where Gabriel went to, but just as he takes a moment to look closely at the wood and marble inlays that decorate the walls, two familiar voices reach his ears.

“Sam,” Gabriel says, warm and thrilled, and when he looks back, Gabriel’s already at his side, soft smile making Sam mirror it just as he takes Sam’s hand and kisses the inside of his wrist like he started to do not long ago.

“I see your foul mood went away.” He can’t hide the amusement from his voice or his face.

He flutters a hand dismissively. “Not worth my time. Energy is too precious.”

And Sam’s gaze falls on his lips, at the same time drinking in the way Gabriel talks and moves and breathes. It’s only when he looks up again that he sees the golden filaments swirl in the depths of his eyes and Sam knows that Gabriel’s responding to the hunger he probably sees in Sam’s eyes.

They’d have probably kissed right there and then if the man Gabriel had been conversing with hadn’t cleared his throat delicately.

“Right. We were on our way to meet with Michael and the others,” he says, then steps closer and pushes himself on his tiptoes, hot palms gliding over the jut of his hip bones just as Sam is leaning down only to receive a quick kiss near the corner of his mouth. “Delicious as ever.” He winks and licks his lips. “See you later, Samsquatch.”

Sam shakes his head in amusement as he watches him follow Joshua behind the marble stairs.

He finds the sitting room and a plush, wide couch pushed under the window. It’s almost too modern for how the room is decorated, but it seems like it was modified to blend in, the legs made of carved wood and the cushions a deep burgundy with gold ridges to go with the heavy curtains and the fluffy carpet in the middle where Mist takes residence.

Bucky, on the other hand, is taking a lot of liberties by hopping up and lying himself over Sam’s legs.

“Are you sure you’re Bucky? You’re being really chummy.”

But he doesn’t push him away because he likes this, being close to at least one of the hounds, enjoying the warmth and weigh, caressing the short coat. He’s comfortable and cosy, and he enjoys the scenery outside even though it rains, but he gradually feels himself getting drowsy, so he leans back on the couch pillows, and Bucky sighs, his muzzle over Sam’s stomach as Sam’s hand just as gradually stops petting the hound.

_Must be revealed._

He jolts awake when something vibrates menacingly beneath his hand and atop his pelvis and by the time he blinks his eyes awake, Mist and Bucky are growling low, but threateningly enough that Sam knows something or somebody disturbed them. It’s not hard to find the source of their agitation when he follows the direction their muzzles points into and find none other than Gabriel’s half brother pouring himself a drink on the other side of the room.

Sam’s about to say something, but just then Gabriel enters the room, his form imposing and murder painted all over his face.

“Come, Sam. I need you upstairs,” he says, offering an impatient hand, and Sam must have been asleep for more than half an hour because it feels like everything is moving too fast for him to compute.

Gabriel whistles short and Bucky jumps down to stand at attention just like Mist does. He scoffs, though, when neither move, just as Sam finally stands up, ignoring Gabriel’s hand.

They only follow when Sam starts walking and he’s sure Gabriel mutters under his breath, “go figure.”

By the time they’re behind closed doors again, Sam’s more awake. There are four pastries on the low table to the side of the window and he goes for them because that’s exactly what he needs after a nap.

“Did something happen?” he asks around a mouthful.

“Yeah.” Oh, Gabriel’s pissed. Sam doesn’t find it in himself to be offended by this or even acknowledging it in any shape or form. The blueberry mousse-filled pastry is too good to be bothered with anything else. “You were alone with my brother despite me telling you—”

“He was there when I woke up,” Sam points out, gaze sliding down behind Gabriel at Mist grooming Bucky on the rug before the fireplace.

“That’s not the point!”

“It actually is. You’re accusing me of something that was out of my hands.”

“But you fell asleep in a place where he had access to!”

Sam lifts an eyebrow. “So now I can’t leave this room for fear of running into him? Sorry, but that won’t happen.”

Gabriel tugs at the hair behind his ears, pacing about, and Sam finishes the last of his cake.

“I don’t want to confine you to my wing, but if you continue this, I’ll have to.”

And just like that Sam goes from zen to boiling anger in a snap.

“Are you threatening me, Gabriel? Really? What’s so horrible about your brother that I can’t even be in the same room with the guy? He didn’t even talk to me in the sitting room!”

“That’s because I came as fast as I could or he would have.”

“God! Do you hear yourself? This is—”

Gabriel takes a few steps towards Sam, index finger lifted in warning. “If you say that it’s stupid…”

Sam takes a few steps of his own. “What? What happens? You can’t deny me my freedom. If our relationship is not a breach of the contract, then be sure that you keeping me anywhere against my wishes is!”

Anger is boiling gold in Gabriel’s eyes, breath coming out fast, but just like that he deflates with a long sigh, palm stroking his forehead.

“I don’t want to fight with you Sam,” he says weakly, pursing his lips. “But you have to understand that I’m only trying to look out for you and keep you safe. You saw the people at lunch. They have no qualms threatening others with death and even going so far as to do exactly what they say.”

“What happened here, Gabriel?” Sam asks, changing the subject slightly because this agitation in Gabriel is clearly a product of something in his past. “What happened between you and your brother to have you be so afraid of him?”

Gabriel snorts and goes to pour himself a drink. “Afraid? Pah. He wishes. I’d sooner wring his neck than be afraid of that monster.”

That has Sam lift his eyebrows. “You know that such strong feelings of hatred towards someone come from fear, right?”

“Again with the shrink thing, Sammy. Told ya nobody asked for that, least of all me.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “And again with the snarky attitude. Fine. Be that way, don’t tell me anything, but you’ll lay down on this overprotective mode. If you don’t explain your reasons behind it, then you don’t get to be like that with me.”

“Fine. Then don’t leave this room and we have ourselves a deal.”

Sam stares at him until Gabriel sighs and places down his tumbler to approach his boyfriend.

“I’m sorry I lashed out at you, okay?” His hands come to rest on Sam’s hips. “But it’s a complicated and nasty situation I’m in right now, and I don’t want you to get caught up in the middle of it. So if you’d just stay put until we get back, I’d be eternally grateful to you.”  

He searches his face, seeing mostly tiredness and the shadow of a smile that looks a lot like Gabriel’s trying to lure Sam in gently.

“What happened at the meeting you had?”

And his entire face changes to a closed, angry expression. “Nothing much. Wedding plans and mostly disagreeing with each other over who should be invited and who shouldn’t.”

“Isn’t that something you’d do weeks, if not months, before the wedding?”

“Supernatural, Sammy. We can be everywhere in the world in a matter of seconds.”

“Yeah, but outfits and other plans they might—”

Gabriel flutters a hand.  “Such things can be changed. Besides, if the headmaster personally sends the invites, then it’s consider an insult to not attend, even for a little while.”

Sam frowns. “That sounds like the root of a lot of disputes between super families. Say that this guy has an important meeting with a headmaster at the same time that the invite from this master arrives, and he can’t refuse either. What does he do?”

Gabriel grins. “Easy. He chooses the least one with time to come hunt his ass down.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Scout’s honor.”

Sam shakes his head, not even bothering to apply logic to that. He’s learning fast that a lot of things cannot exist within the same space as logic does. He stares at Gabriel, picking apart his expression and finding that he can read much more than he thought in the lines on his face.

“What else happened there? You wouldn’t look so haggard, if something didn’t touch too close to home.”

At this he sighs and steps back. “We also talked about Death and his condition.” Sam waits. “Lucifer is the only one who can release him, but he still refuses to do so.”

“Was Death—”

“Present? Yes.”

He purses his lips, feeling angry on behalf of Death.

“How did he take it?”

Gabriel shrugs. “Stoically. He didn’t let anything on, and he disappeared when the meeting was over.”

“Why isn’t your older brother insisting on this with your other brother?”

His lips form a thin, white line, and with a heavy sigh he says, “because he tried and Lucifer doesn’t budge that easily. He’s a stubborn asshole, and he likes the power that this gives him. Besides—”

“Yeah?”

Another sigh. “He and Michael have a— different relationship.”

“What do you mean?”

Gabriel flutters a hand. “Something that involves a human by the name Adam. Dunno much about it, only what Ruby and Meg told me some time ago. It’s never easy to pinpoint if they want to skin each other alive or fuck each other’s brains out. Maybe this Adam is the buffer they need. Anyway, I’m not interested in my brothers’ love life or lack of it.” He side-eyes Sam. “I’m more interested in how much time it takes me to get rid of those clothes on you.”

“No,” Sam says and side-steps Gabriel when he reaches for Sam. “We’re not having sex today.”

He scoffs. “Why not?”

“Because you’re clearly not in the right headspace, and I’m not in the mood for angry sex right now.”

“Fine,” he says with a huff and goes by the window.

Sam sighs like it’s getting very frustrating to keep calm around this stubborn person. He comes to stand behind him, enveloping his boyfriend in his arms and kissing the top of his head.

“I’m not saying no to sharing physical comfort, but nothing more than that.”

“Ugh, so platonic cuddling?” he says even as he leans more into Sam’s chest, a hand coming up to lie on Sam’s forearm as he bends down to kiss the back of his wrist. “Okay, fine. What don’t I do for you, Sammy boy.”

“Stop calling me that?”

“What? Sammy?” He turns his head to grin up at him. “If I keep calling you that will you make love to me? I’m fine with you taking me up the wall. I can take—”

The hand covers Gabriel’s mouth just as Sam was rolling his eyes.

“God, sometimes you talk too much for your own good. I told you we’re not doing it, and we’re not. I want to spend the night wrapped around you and just talk. Is that too much to ask?”  

He mumbles something into Sam’s hand and he frowns until Gabriel licks his palm he swiftly takes it away because it tickles.

“I said that you’re adorable and I’d like to eat you up,” he says as he pushes himself on the tiptoes to kiss Sam without taking any energy. “Okay, we’re doing it your way, Sammykins.”  



	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana, Arthur and Merlin are mentioned in this chapter. They snuck up on me as I was thinking up a name for the lady.
> 
> Also, the only reason it took me this long to get the rest of the chapters up is 1. writer slum. 2. signed up for WIP BB, so I had to adhere to the schedule. But finally, _finally_ , I finished this fic!
> 
> Shout out to Jld71 who provided the art for this fic! You can find the masterpost [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108128/).

**_Reading, present Redding, California_ **

**_1669, before the binding ritual_ **

 

"It's necessary," Lucifer said the previous evening, all composed and matter-of-fact. "Death was never meant to be tied up to another supernatural being."

"Then why did you?" Gabriel exploded like a raging hurricane, pushing his chair on the varnished floor, the scrape grating on their sensitive ears. "What the hell were you thinking when you decided to summon and bind a being so vast and powerful to yourself?"

Lucifer regarded him calmly, no trace of surprise when confronted with Gabriel's fury. 

“Well, he isn’t so vast and powerful if he can be leashed so easily, is he?”

Gabriel fumed, finding no plausible retort to slap that chiseled face of his, all carved up in angles and strong lines.

"As I've said," Lucifer spoke slowly, eyeing Gabriel, but his words were directed at Michael. "Death's far too powerful for me to control. It takes a lot of energy out of me just to summon him."

"You know what," Gabriel said, seeing as Lucifer ignored his questions so blatantly, "fuck you, Lucifer!" he spat out, eyes flashing electric golden. 

Lucifer's basilisk turned his into slitted blood red, unable to not respond to Gabriel's challenge. He smirked as he said, “not if you want to be hanged for incest, _brother.”_  

"Would you two stop the cock show?" Michael interrupted glacially, seated at the front of the long table, between his two younger brothers. "Death is now our main priority."

"It wouldn't have been, if Lucifer hadn’t meddled with the Forbidden Summonings and Bindings in the East side of the dungeons." Gabriel crossed his arms, still standing and looking down at his brother with ire.

"If your claim is correct, then nobody should leave such _dangerous_ books unsupervised. Someone might stumble upon them, and if I remember correctly you were the one who issued the challenge."

Gabriel snorted. "As if you’re that stupid to take me up on it, if you don’t have something to gain in return. I wasn't born yesterday, so try again."

"You might be right, but you did prove to be a good incentive." Lucifer smiled far too smugly for Gabriel's tastes.

"You—" He lunged forward, face contorted into undiluted anger.

 _"_ **_Enough!_ ** _"_

Michael's dragon voice shook the walls, windows vibrating with force, and the shadows of a portion of his bat-like wings unfurled on the wall behind him, helped by the light of the chandelier. 

Gabriel froze mid-motion, more out of a fast-learned reflex than an inability to defy it. He could have resisted Michael’s command if he so wished. He couldn’t have said the same about Lucifer, whose veins turned black as a result of resisting the family headmaster’s order.

"You will stop fighting over who is guiltier than who **_right now_ ** _!"_

The voice was penetrating. Gabriel's bones were vibrating with the strength of it.

Tense-filled moments passed until Gabriel finally jerked his head into a stiff nod and lifted his chair back to sit on, under the scrutiny of Michael's still human eyes. He had no need to turn them, his voice alone did the trick every time he needed it.

"Now, Lucifer," Michael turned his attention towards his brother, features set in stone. "What does this binding entail?"

 

 

The wet warmth moving on his face wakes him up from the latest dream: the same one he’s been having ever since he arrived. Something is wrong because it’s not normal to have a dream that pesters you every single time you fall asleep. He needs to talk to Gabriel about it; he should know more about the why than Sam is able to discern now.

“Morning, Bucky,” he says with his eyes closed and then wrinkles his nose when the hound breathes on his face.

But when he opens his eyes it’s Mist that greets him, which makes the last remnants of his sleep run away as he pushes himself up on his elbows. The hearth is stocked with logs, warmth coming in waves on Sam’s side of the bed (which is the closest to it), but no Bucky or Gabriel in sight.

Mist sighs and lies down, her muzzle very close to Sam’s forearm, but not touching him. So Sam does the next best thing: he strokes her head to see if she would allow that. She does, which furthers Sam’s surprise. On one hand, he’s over the moon that the hound is so used to him by now that she willingly comes to him to ask for pets, but on the other hand he’s afraid that this might be just a passing phase and she’ll return to ignore him and keep her distance.

Either way, Sam’s determined to make the most of it, so even with physiological needs impinging upon his bladder, he doesn’t move from where he’s sitting, stroking Mist’s soft coat.

But the morning bliss is cut short by a knock on the door. He calls for them to enter without even thinking about moving away from the warm bed and his newest companion. Arya curtsies as she enters with a tray.

“Master Gabriel ordered that you be served breakfast in his quarters as nobody will be present for it downstairs.”

Sam watches her cross the room towards the table near the window.

“How thoughtful of him,” he says without much inflection.

She curtsies again. “And he also said that you should stay in the room today.”

“Duly noted.” Now _that_ conveyed the full power of his sarcasm.

Another curtsy before she leaves.

He should’ve asked her what’s happening, but he surmises that he’s going to find out by himself. Like hell he’s going to stay holed up inside on the wedding day. He won’t make trouble for the people in charge of the wedding preparations, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t keep to the sidelines and watch them work. Even help, if there’s any need.

Another knock on the door has him frown at it, Mist sighing more in relief than anything else. He studies the back of her head; is he becoming better at reading the hounds? Now that is something he never thought would happen to him. Again, he calls for them to come in.

“Good morning, Sam,” Death says as he stops just inside the closed door, Mist’s tail thumping on the covers in acknowledgement, but nothing more than that. “I see you have not changed into your day clothes.”

A lazy smile stretches on his lips. “Believe it or not, I haven’t left the bed since I woke up, although I really need to use the bathroom. But I can’t do that.”

A lifted eyebrow inquires after the reason why that is. 

“Is this something you see every day?” he asks, pointing with his hand at Mist and his other hand.

At that, Death’s eyes fill with mirth. “I suppose not. She does take time to get used to someone. I’m glad she warmed up to you, Sam.”

“I’m mostly afraid that this is just a passing mood she’s in and that she’ll return to ignoring me if I stop this.”

The mirth intensifies if that is even possible. “I assure you that she is not that frivolous. If she accepted you, then be sure that it is not temporary. That acceptance is there to stay.”

“Really?”

He narrows his gaze. “Am I not her master?”

Sam looks at Death, then at Mist, going up and down a couple more times.

“‘Scuse me.”

He makes a run for the bathroom and he’s damned sure that he hears chuckles in his wake. Upon his return, Death has migrated towards the armchair near the fireplace while Mist hasn’t moved from where she lies on the bed. He goes to take out his day clothes, undershirt, a moss green woolen shirt, and a pair of denim.

“Do you know where Gabriel is?” he asks as he buttons up his shirt.

“He is in another meeting with the headmaster and the soon-to-be spouses. They’re postponing the wedding.”

“What?” He turns to look at Death. “Why?”

“Ruby was wrong about the full moon.”

Sam frowns. “What has that got to do with the wedding?”

“Ruby is a demon-witch, so she is bound to such things as full moons.”

“So when’s the full moon?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Must be chaos out there with all the invitations sent to the invitees.”

Death nods, his gaze on the fire crackling in the hearth. Sam brings the tray with his breakfast on the table between the armchair and the loveseat.

“Care to join me?” he says when he takes off the lid and sees the amount of food on the plates.

“I must decline. Have not had an appetite for days now.”

Sam blinks, thoughts running a mile a minute. He rearranges the plates, taking the empty one and piling food on it.

“Then a cup of coffee.”

Death doesn’t answer immediately and when Sam meets his gaze, he looks like he’s about to decline.

“I shall take a cup,” he says instead.

“No sugar.” It’s a statement and Death nods, visibly pleased by that.

They drink and eat in silence for a while, Sam sending furtive glances at Death and at Mist who seems to be deep asleep on the bed. Well, somebody else seems to have had a white night. He envies the ease with which she can take naps whenever she wants during the day. He’d like to be able to do that, too.

“Is it because you feel the end is near?” he finds himself asking without any other pre-established context than the one both know it’s there.

Death sips from the cup. “Not an end, Sam. The end is always the beginning of something.”

“But you’re restless.”

He blinks slowly. “I might be.”

“Gabriel told me about your situation and how Lucifer doesn’t want to release you.”

“He’ll have to sooner or later.”

Sam frowns. “You talk as if you know what will happen.”

This time one corner of his mouth quirks up. “Now I know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Returning here with you unveiled some possibilities that have been hidden from me.”

“What do I have to do with your condition?”

Death refuses to say anything else, so Sam finishes what’s on his plate. Once breakfast is out of the way, he pours himself a cup of coffee and leans back, enjoying the companionable silence, even though something gnaws at him.

“Are you sure you want to go along with it?” he says when he can’t keep it in him anymore.

“It?” Death inquires just as his gaze strays to the door and his hand starts to rise.

“Leaving Gabriel.”

Death closes his eyes as his hand returns back to his thigh and Gabriel bursts into the room which startles Mist from her sleep and Sam almost drops the cup of coffee on himself.

“What did you just say?”

“Gabriel,” Sam says, managing to maintain his calm and put the cup on the table.

“No, please repeat for the ones that aren’t in on the loop. Who’s leaving who?” 

Sam purses his lips as he looks back at Death who simply stares at Gabriel.

“This is nothing you didn’t already know, Gabriel,” Death says, calm but also brooking no argument.

Gabriel face contorts into a myriad of emotions, from hurt to anger to sadness to guilt to resignation. He leaves without another word and Sam stands up without a second thought.  

“No. Leave him, Sam,” Death says, soft, but commanding.

“But—”

“He needs to sort out his feelings on the matter. There is a lot of guilt involved that is clouding Gabriel’s mind right now. You won’t be able to get through to him now. Give him time.”

Sam is about to argue, but then he thinks about his own arguments with Gabriel and he sighs, closing the door.

“Will you two be all right?”

“We will,” he says before he disappears.

 

***

Gabriel is nowhere to be found even though he asks anyone who crosses his path about his whereabouts. Nobody seems to know where he disappeared to, so he finds his way back to the sitting room, where he and Mist find Bucky.

“Hey, there, buddy,” he says crouching down to scratch him behind the ears to his utter delight.

He even goes so far as to lick Sam’s chin, which pulls out a chuckle from him.

“You’re my brother’s newest addition to his chain of lovers,” Lucifer says, and Sam turns his head only to follow the man as he traverses the room to pour himself a drink.

“And you are his half-brother.”

Lucifer lifts his tumbler at Sam, then takes a sip. Neither talk after that and Sam feels as if he shouldn’t match the assessing stare with one of his own because he doesn’t know if that means that he’s challenging Lucifer or something else. Bucky is the one who breaks the stare down by pushing his head into Sam’s palm which brings his attention back to the hound.

“I see he’s trying to keep you away from me.”

“I see you have trouble communicating with your own brother,” he retorts, feeling defensive after what he’s heard about this man from Gabriel.

He gives the impression of that asshole aristocrat that wouldn’t blink at your woes.

"He's still bitter about Kali's death." Is what Lucifer offers.

Now that is the part of Gabriel’s past he still hasn’t heard much about.

"Kali? You mean the friend who died?" Lucifer throws him a confused look, but Sam continues, "what has her death got to do with you?" 

He regards Sam for a few seconds, assessing him. "Kali was Gabriel's fiancèe," Lucifer says slowly, and Sam's eyes widen. 

Gabriel failed to mention that aspect to him. This whole family affair is more complicated than Sam thought at first.

"I was the one who killed her," he continues and Sam balks. Lucifer sighs and looks out of the window. In a soft voice he says, "I'm not proud of what I did. I was young and foolish. Thought—”  he trails off on purpose, as if that's a thought that isn't meant to be shared with Sam. 

"Have you ever apologized to Gabriel after that?" Sam finds himself asking. 

Lucifer releases a sharp chuckle, devoid of any kind of humour. He turns around to look at Sam. 

"And do you think that a couple of words and a pained expression would have done the trick? Make my little brother forgive me? Are you sure you know him at all?" Lucifer throws in a cocked eyebrow to weight down the assessing second look he gives Sam. 

"At least it would've been a step forward," Sam says slowly. "At least you would've showed remorse. Gabriel—”  

"You're under the false impression that I didn't _want_ to kill her." Lucifer frowns. He shakes his head with a wry smile when Sam's shock doesn’t lessen. "He liked her. He admired her strong will and quick wit. She was an opinionated person and they were always discussing this or that. It became kind of sickening to watch." His lips pressed together into a moue of distaste, before turning around and leaving Sam alone without as much as a by your leave. 

He’s not sure what to make of all that information, and in a way it feels as if he trespassed into something that should have been Gabriel’s decision to tell. But the deed is done now and Sam can’t delete the conversation from his memory. He looks down at Bucky, taking his head in both hands and kissing him between the eyes. Mist takes her place at Sam’s side with a sigh that Sam’s pretty sure translates into a comment addressing his idiocy. Or maybe she’s simply tired of the drama involving Gabriel’s family. He’ll never know.

 

***

Even though no wedding will be happening tonight, the castle seems to have a hard time quieting down, people hurrying from one door to the other and Sam’s trying hard not to step on any toes or stumble into anyone carrying tablecloths and chairs and whatnot. Bucky and Mist follow him with an ease that Sam envies, but is unable  to not scratch them both behind their ears when they look up at him with inquiring stares.

Well, if Gabriel is not by his side, at least he can always count on the hounds to offer him the physical comfort and attention he needs. He might even ditch him for them, if Gabriel continues to be a stubborn asshole. But then again, he loves that stubborn asshole, so he sees a possible separation as just a silly notion his mind embraces when he’s mad at the man.

With a sigh, he lifts his gaze to see where they stopped, only to be met by a heavy-set wooden door, a dark brown towards reddish color, not quite tall enough for Sam’s height, but wide enough to fit two more people at his sides. He glances back and then left and right along the hallway.

“Huh.”

The length of it is deserted and he can’t even hear voices or movement from below or the other hallways. There’s a stillness around that sounds a lot like a held breath, although the giddy feeling is there, somewhat more amplified if he can be a judge of it.

Without anything else to do and since his curiosity rears its head, he enters only to be greeted by a large room, large enough to be considered a modest ballroom, full of shelves upon shelves of books.

So this is the library Gabriel talked about. He should’ve made his way here earlier, much, much earlier because this is how paradise looks and smells like.

A man appears from behind a shelf with three books and a smile when he sees Sam.

“Good evening, Sam,” he greets, passing by and shelving two of the books.

“This is…” He gestures with his hands, unable to put into words what he feels right now.

The smile widens. “Beyond what words could express. Yes, I know what you mean. Come, let’s sit.”

He guides Sam and the hounds between three rows of shelves disposed in a circle  until they reach the middle where a three-person couch, a settee, bean bags, a desk with a lamp on and a couple of chairs occupy the space. Mist takes the couch and Bucky contends with two bean bags because he has the same problem as Sam does: too many centimeters at the end of the meter.

“Have they finished?” Joshua asks taking a seat on the settee, followed by Sam who is still taking in the tall walls lined with shelves full of books.

“You mean with the preparations for the wedding?” he asks absentmindedly.

“Yes.”

Sam looks at him, brow furrowed. “Are you hiding in here?” 

Joshua smiles that little smile of his. “Perhaps.” That makes Sam grin because he can understand that feeling.

“Gabriel said that you know a lot about history. Both the world’s and his family’s.”

“I’ve been with the Milton family since before Gabriel came to live here, so yes, I know something about history.”

Sam assesses him. His tongue itches with the need to ask Joshua about his super side, but Sam knows a thing or two about super customs and this falls into that grey territory where you shouldn’t ask. But then again it depends on who you’re talking to, and Sam still doesn’t trust his ability to judge people this early in the meeting.

“You’re wondering what my supernatural side is,” Joshua states for him.

Sam purses his lips and looks at Mist who is napping on the couch. Joshua smiles at him and twines his fingers in his lap.

“I’m hard to label, but the closest you came to put a name to my supernatural side is angel.”

His eyebrows climb up at the notion; he’s never met an angel, and if he’s to give credibility to the Bible then there’s definitely a lack of blinding light involved in this meeting.

“But you’re not the kind of angel religion talks about.”

“No. I come close to the characteristics in it, but I answer to no God or fight demons or release blinding light.”

“You’re also not as tall as the Empire States Building or make my ears bleed when you speak.”

Joshua laughs. “I should hope not, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone and my knowledge is meant to be shared, not stored away and then forgotten.”

“Speaking of knowledge, I’ve been meaning to ask you this since we talked at lunch.” Joshua nods, waiting for Sam to elaborate, but Sam needs a bit of time to put into words what he wants to find out. “The… thing Gabriel does when he kisses the inside of my wrist. I find it strange, but it seems to be something that has a history, maybe a custom supers have that I’m not aware of.”

“Ah, that. It’s a vow. And it’s certainly something not every super does, but Miltons in particular. It’s their own custom. A powerful one at that.”

“What do you mean?”

Joshua twirls his hand in the air and a book floats down from above the passageway cutting the middle of the shelves. He searches for a specific page, then hands it to Sam.

It’s a bit hard to read as it’s in old English and the ink is mostly faded, but he can make out the explanation and history of the gesture. Apparently, the vow was first used by Chuck with Magda, the late headmistress, when he was courting her. Because she was human, Chuck vowed to be hers forever, even when death separated them. And that became a custom with the Miltons, something that was not taken lightly. Words have power, and although nobody except Chuck (and now Gabriel) made the vow, nobody knew what happened if they went against it. 

“Sounds… interesting,” Sam settles for, “but I don’t think that Gabriel means it like that.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, it’s Gabriel,” he says, stroking his thighs to get the sweat off his palms, not liking the change in his body temperature and the rhythm of his heart. “He’s been around for such a long time and I’m… me. Mortal. Human. He knows I’ll die at some point, so why mean this much through a gesture that was used once in your history? It sounds too illogical for someone like Gabriel. He’s the kind of person who thinks two steps ahead of everybody, so he surely took into consideration my mortality.”

It’s hard to accept how true his words sound, not when he always skirted away from thinking too much on this subject, because no matter how compatible they are and how much Sam has come to love him, his humanity will always shadow their relationship.

“He is a logical man, but he also loves fiercely, without reserve,” Joshua says.

Sam huffs, unconvinced. “Tell that to the chain of lovers he has.”

Joshua smiles indulgently. “Gabriel hasn't brought home a significant other in more than a century.” He glances at Sam. “But here you are.”

Sam shakes his head. “I don't think he means it like that.”

“Yet he vows that same thing to you — and more — when he kisses your wrist.” He meets Joshua’s shrouded gaze. “Believe me, Sam, not even Gabriel would joke around with something of that importance.”

He knows, but it's hard to believe it, when it's not his custom or a custom he grew up with. Sometimes, plain words are more meaningful than mysterious gestures.

 

***

Death meets him in the hallway and takes the hounds out for an evening walk— or run, so he returns to Gabriel’s room unguarded. Gabriel is by the fire, back to him and it makes Sam pause before he closes the door.

“How are things going with the preparations for the wedding?” 

He pours himself a glass of wine because although it has been a pleasant couple of hours spent with Joshua, the library is kept at a lower temperature than most of the castle, so he needs something to warm him from the inside.

“Fine,” Gabriel says, turning to look at Sam. “You’ve been with Joshua.”

He pauses, the rim of the glass on his lips, narrowing his eyes at Gabriel before he nods once and take a sip. The sigh makes Gabriel’s shoulders slump.

“I wasn’t stalking you, Sam. I’m not trying to control you. I’m just worried.”

“You know I can take care of myself.”

He nods, a grim thing. “I know. That doesn’t stop me from feeling apprehensive when I can’t be by your side here.”

He puts the glass down near the bottle and bridges the distance in three strides to push a hand in Gabriel’s hair and kiss him because it’s been a whole day since they saw each other, more since they last kissed and Sam is a man of simple needs.

“Sorry I kept the thing with Death from you,” Sam whispers against Gabriel’s lips, mesmerized once again by the swirl of gold  in his eyes, the warmth of his body pressed against his, the palms resting on his hips.

“I knew it was bound to happen at some point,” he says looking old and like he needs to shoulder far too much for what he can carry. “I just don’t want to accept that it might be sooner than I expect.”

Sam kisses his forehead and hugs him, closing his eyes when Gabriel returns the hug with much more force.

“I talked to Lucifer,” Sam says out of nowhere because he might as well get this thing done and over with.

Gabriel stiffens and wants to lean back, but Sam doesn’t let him.

“We met by chance in the sitting room and… he told me about Kali.”

Sam lets that sink in, giving Gabriel time to get used to the idea that now Sam knows about a tragic part of his past.

“I guess you would’ve heard about that one way or another,” he murmurs into Sam’s chest.

“I’d have wanted you to tell me, though.”

Gabriel sighs letting the last of his tension bleed out from his short frame.

“Now you know,” he says, looking up at him.

Sam searches his face, his eyes, missing the gold in them. “I do. And it doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

A weak smile lifts one corner of Gabriel’s lips and Sam leans down to kiss it, soft and short, but doesn’t retreat, staying an inch away from Gabriel’s mouth. He feels how Gabriel’s breath comes out faster, more elaborate and when he lifts his gaze, molten gold greets him and a thrill pours down his spine at the sight.

They make love until they’re both spent and satiated. Sam murmurs something about a dream into Gabriel’s crown of hair, but Gabriel is already asleep, having taken from Sam’s energy during the second round.

The dream repeats itself and Sam’s skin breaks into goose bumps although he remembers he fell asleep in a warm place and he was happy, but this— this is dark and cold and ominous. Mist is there with him, joined by Bucky, both growling low at the door. The shadows whisper the same mantra they’ve been whispering every time Sam closed his eyes.

_What is hidden must be revealed._

Even though the growls make all the alarms in his system go haywire, he still approaches the door and touches the handle, noticing no change in temperature and texture between his palm and the ring that looks like it’s made of brass, and opens the door only to be sucked into a void of darkness.

He wakes up with a start, dislodging Gabriel as he sits up.

“Wha— what? What happ’nd?” 

Gabriel’s hand catches Sam’s biceps, becoming increasingly more awake.

“I— don’t know,” Sam says, looking at his hands on the dark cover. The fire in the heart has gone out already, but the moon casts half the room into a grey, cold light that makes Sam feel unsettled. “I keep having this dream— it’s, it’s the same one every time I fall asleep.”

“What’s it about?”

“I’m standing in this dank, poorly lit hallway and there’s a door in front of me. Mist, and now Bucky, are growling at it as if it might attack me. I always wake up when I go to open it, but— not this time.”

“What happened?” Gabriel prods, coming closer so that he can look into Sam’s face. 

“I opened the door and there was only darkness on the other side. That’s when I woke up.” He meets Gabriel’s inquisitive glance.

“When did it start?”

“The first night I slept here.” Sam watches as Gabriel turns his attention to something only he seems to know about. “What is it, Gabriel? Why do I keep having this dream?”

“I’m still not sure why, but I think you’re influenced by the house.”

“The house? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Remember when I told you that this is not a normal house? It has— a life of its own. Anyway, whatever this dream is about it can’t be good, so please, this once listen to me and keep to the more trafficked rooms and keep Mist and Bucky with you at all times.”

Sam studies Gabriel’s face as much as he can what with it being cast in shadow. He sighs.

“Okay.”

He caresses Sam’s cheek, then drags his fingers lightly through his hair which make Sam sigh again and lean in.

“Come, try to sleep some more.”

“And get the same dream again?”

Gabriel’s eyes flash a deep gold, so different than the usual electric one, as he gently pulled Sam to lie back on the pillow. 

“Not this time, love,” he says as he continues to caress his cheek.

“This is not working for me.”

Gabriel huffs. “You haven’t even tried.”

“I’m telling you,” Sam presses on and it comes out as petulant. “Too much space between us.”

He smiles as he opens his arms and waits for Sam to come, which he does, but tucks his head under Gabriel’s chin, hugging his lover’s torso like a giant octopus. And true to Gabriel’s word, Sam doesn’t dream of anything the rest of the night.

 

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to go and help the others?” Joshua asks with amusement as he takes yet another book from the pile in Sam’s arms.

“Two can hide in here,” Sam says, smiling lopsided.

Joshua chuckles and shakes his head, then goes to the other side of the passage between two rows of shelves and takes three books that he shelves. The third one, though, needs to go up on a higher shelf and Joshua is taller than Gabriel but not that tall. Sam gently takes the book and pushes it into the empty space between two other books.

“Thank you, Sam,” Joshua says, and Sam’s about to answer when the door opens and startles the hounds into coming at Sam’s side.

“Joshua,” Gabriel says hurriedly as if he has been running all the way here, “we need you. Lady Morgana of the Pendragon line is demanding— hi, Sam,” he says as he pushes himself on his tiptoes to kiss Sam to Sam’s surprise, then bends down to pet the hounds and turns towards Joshua, “— that there be no white lilies. You have to tell her it brings good luck for Ruby and Meg.”

Joshua takes a fortifying breath. “Sam, could you finish here, please? Those four need to go on the second level, up there.”

“Sure thing.” He smiles.

Joshua nods and leads the way, but just as they go around the bend of the concentric shelves, Gabriel turns around and in several strides is right back in front of Sam with a serious expression.

“Gabe—”

He takes Sam’s hand and kisses the inside of his wrist. “I miss you,” he breathes out, looking up at Sam with those electric golden filaments dancing in his eyes.

Sam feels himself robbed of breath. “I’m right here,” he whispers.

Gabriel’s hands are hot, such a contrast to Sam’s cold ones.

“It’s pandemonium out there. If Meg wasn’t so cold blooded in times of crisis, she’d have broken down by now. Ruby sure is one comment away from cursing someone with something nasty.”

Sam chuckles and leans down. “Seems like a lot of energy goes towards keeping things from going haywire,” he says, lower and lower as he closes the gap between them, “care for a snack?”

“Can I?” Gabriel asks, a tremor in his voice, and the fingers that caress his cheek feel almost electric.

“Yes, always,” he consents and Gabriel pulls Sam in the last inch, taking a ‘mouthful’ of Sam’s energy.

He’s a bit dizzy when Gabriel releases him, his eyes flashing that lively electric gold.

“I miss you,” he says against  Sam’s lips.

He chuckles. “I’m right here.”

“God, I’d take you back home and be done with this whole wedding.”

“We can’t,” Sam says with another chuckle, kissing Gabriel’s forehead, “you need to officiate the wedding and then we’ll be free to leave.”

“I’d take you right here, if I wasn’t—”

“Gabriel,” Joshua’s voice interrupts him from behind the shelves; a clamor of voices and some shouts filtering in from the hallway, “Ruby cursed Arthur Pendragon.”

Gabriel closes his eyes for a moment. “For fuck’s sake!” he says under his breath and Sam has a hard time keeping his mirth in. “Merlin’s gonna have a fit, if he finds out!” he says out loud as he moves away from Sam.

“I’m not sure about that,” Joshua comments. “He seemed somewhat entertained—”

“Where’s Michael?”

“Busy keeping Lucifer from murdering Zachariah.”

“What the _fuck_ is wrong with this family? No, don’t answer that.” 

The door closes and the noise fades away, but he can hear Gabriel’s voice even through the thick wood when he demands Ruby to undo the curse.

Sam sighs with a smile and shakes his head. It feels like a family, finally. Not the murdering part, but he supposes that’s also part of this family. It’s good that Gabriel has something to do, even if he grumbles about it. He has a feeling that Gabriel secretly likes this, helping around, being involved in such a big thing as the union between two people that he knows and likes.

He goes to the far end of the room and climbs the wooden stairs to the second level, Mist and Bucky behind him.

“Not afraid of heights, are you?” he murmurs, glancing back at them, Mist wearing her bored expression and Bucky’s ears perked.

He shelves the remaining books and looks around at the titles, taking in German, Dutch, Italian, Spanish, Scandinavian probably, and Egyptian even. And as he moves along the passageway, he finds one that sticks just a bit out of its place and, obviously, pushes it back in— only for a faint click to resonate from behind and the left frame to push out a bit.

“Huh, what is this?”

Pulling it all the way reveals a set of stairs and a lot of cobwebs. He looks down at the hounds who meet his stare with twin enquiring expressions.

“Care for a little adventure?” he asks as he climbs the stair, pushing away cobwebs and sneezing twice because there’s a lot of dust in there. 

When he finally reaches the top of the steep stairs, he finds himself in what looks to be the attic— or an attic. The window is so dirty that the sunshine has a hard time passing through. But there are fissures in the ceiling through which light gets in in sporadic blades of dancing dust particle. It gives the place a warm brown-yellow color. Covered objects litter the place and he almost falls on his face when his foot catches the iron curve of an old fashion coat hanger.

Mist and Bucky sneeze more than twice as they reluctantly follow Sam on his little quest. It’s almost labyrinthine the way the dusty objects are placed. He tries not to make anything fall or disturb to not summon all that dust in the air.

After he goes left and then right between the old, wooden beams that support the ceiling, his eyes catch the sight of what appears to be a notebook the color of aged wine.

He blows the dust off and coughs when the cloud reaches him, too. Two letters written in cursive are inlaid into the leather cover: G S. When he opens the notebook he finds pages and pages of poems written by hand. Some of them he recognizes, Pablo Neruda and Yeats, Bronte, Dickinson— 

His fingers trail over the words, feeling the indents they left behind. He recognizes the style, even if this one is more cursive than blocky. Gabriel still makes the ‘j’ just as flowy or the ‘t’ just as tall and slightly curved, like a lazy ‘s’ in a mirror.

Then one of the hound sneezes and her snaps out of it.

“Right,” he says to no one in particular, then he looks back at his companions who gaze back with a calm that only these two can summon. “We should return.”

And he looks up, then around and finds that he doesn’t remember which way he came. He frowns and then he sees his own shoe prints in the dust. He follows them until they stop right in front of a brick wall.

“Okay, this is beyond weird.”

He touches the wall with the hand that doesn’t hold the notebook and finds it immovable. A chill makes him startle and the floorboards creak before he looks to his right where there’s a straight path towards an open door.

His suspicion grows. “And that was definitely not there.”

When he looks down Mist and Bucky look at the opening intently, as if they’re seeing something Sam isn’t. Right. It’s time he finds his way back to the library.

He tucks the notebook in the back pocket of his jeans and looks around until he comes full circle back with no other exit than the dark, foreboding one that just appeared out of nowhere. He even looks up at the shingles and the beams, trying to find a way out through the roof. Nothing.

He stares back at the open door in annoyance.

“You really want me to go there, don’t you?” he tells the empty air.

Nothing moves or creaks or groans.

With no other option in sight, he walks slowly towards the door, the hounds’ claws ticking on the floor loud in the sudden silence.

He needs to bend down to get through, but as soon as he does so the door closes behind them and the hounds begin to growl. They’re in front of Sam and the dingy stone passage is only lit by the high monastery-like windows: too narrow for Sam to fit through.

The growling doesn’t stop, so, once again, Sam has no choice but to go forward even though Mist tries to block his way and then Bucky.

“Come on, guys, what’s gotten into you?” he says quietly and a bit miffed. “We need to get out of here somehow, okay?”

Mist barks when Sam touches the handle, a nasty thing that chills Sam to the bone, more so than the bronze handle that cools his palm. But it looks and feels too familiar for Sam to not recognize it. The door he's been dreaming about. He takes a few moments to look at it. This is bad. More than bad. The hounds’ growls don’t help calm his nerves. Even if he listened to Gabriel, the house still found a way to lead him to this haunting door. He might as well open it and see what's the big deal behind it, though. With the same suspicion he entered this new passage, but now with a tinge of curiosity he twists the handle.

The door rips open inward and Sam falls.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings apply to this chapter: torture through electric shocks and MCD.  
> Keep in mind that this fic has a happy ending.

 

Gabriel’s leg won’t stop jumping up and down beneath the table as he listens on and off to the volleyball of impatient, tired words between Lucifer, Ruby, Michael and occasionally Meg. This wedding is taking a toll on everybody. Even Michael, so composed and calm, is massaging the bridge of his nose as Ruby and Lucifer have another round.

“You can’t expect me to play nice with those detestable traitors!” Lucifer spits out with a sneer as he crosses his arms.

“Lucifer,” Ruby says from Gabriel’s left, opposite Lucifer, barely contained ire making her words come out shaky, “for once in your life leave aside the past and—”

“Out of the question.”

Michael twines his fingers on the table and fixes his brother with a miffed expression. “You do remember that they’ve come to our aid multiple times in our long—”

“That’s before they betrayed Dad and let Mom die.”

Another sigh from the headmaster. “This is a wedding, Lucifer, not a battlefield or a charity ball. Ruby and Meg are the ones that have the most say in this and if they want them at the wedding then we should grant them this.”

Lucifer’s icy stare meets Ruby’s firey one and Gabriel rolls his eyes. He knows how stubborn Lucifer can be. That’s why he and Gabriel don’t see eye to eye anymore. He also recognizes the closed off position he took. Not even Michael will be able to convince him on this one. If there’s one thing that Gabriel begrudgingly approves in Lucifer is his loyalty to this family. No matter how much bad blood there is between the various branches, he will always fight to maintain the Miltons among the most respected Houses. 

And Gabriel would swallow his tongue before he’d admit that he’s with Lucifer on this one.

Ruby had been away when the Leviathans pledged their loyalty to their Father and then deserted him at the most crucial moment in the battle between them and the vampires, centuries ago. They’ve come a long way from the bloodthirsty savages that they were, and now they’re among the most respected Houses in the supernatural world. But the Leviathans’ betrayal is something no one can forget, least of all Gabriel and Lucifer. Michael, however, seems amenable to bury the apple of discord between the two Houses.

“Fine,” Lucifer says after a couple of tense minutes, “if they come, I’ll go.” He stands up abruptly, Michael following suit.

“Luci—” 

A tremor runs through the walls and floor, short and forceful. It leaves behind a dead-cold silence in which they all exchange confused glances.

Then maniacal laughter fills the hallways and before anybody has time to react, the doors to the dining room are kicked off to admit the two witches Gabriel thought he’d never _ever_ see again.

“You didn’t _kill them!”_ he accuses Michael, jumping up from his seat just as Meg and Ruby do.

Michael doesn’t answer as Alastair sends a shock wave aimed specifically at Gabriel and takes him out of commission for a little while.

 _God-fucking-dammit_ he forgot how nasty and annoying these shock waves were. Especially since Gabriel’s Incubus doesn’t like electricity one bit. It’s not his kryptonite, but more of a cat-water relationship.

Chaos ensues around him as Michael’s Dragon and Lucifer’s Basilisk darken their features, both teaming up to repel Alastair and Azazel.

He concomitantly thinks that he’d love to get up and revive the trio’s past days when they used to tag team opponents and enemies and kill them like it was a sport and they excelled at it, but also how the fuck did those two escape their prison?

Gabriel personally saw to each etching and mark on the chains keeping the cage suspended above a maw so deep that he wasn’t sure it didn’t reach the core of the earth. That was the fail safe he came up with in case they ever managed to escape.

Which is impossible. Nothing can break those chains or lift the curse that kept them immobile, frozen in time, prisoners of their own minds. Nothing.

Only— 

Only the blood of somebody the headmaster holds dear. But Lucifer would never do this. He hates those two as much as Gabriel. Whatever grudge he might have against Gabriel— he simply can’t think of Lucifer as stooping so low as to— 

But it’s not only the headmaster’s beloved that has such a power, is it?

The thought makes Gabriel’s blood run cold.

He specifically chose this curse back then because none of them had people they loved so much they’d willingly give their lives up for them. Not even Michael as he and Lucifer have been at odds for a long time since they have too many similarities to allow for breathing space. 

And the curse stated that only the blood of the headmaster’s beloved — or of anyone’s beloved who is the legitimate heir of Chuck’s legacy — could undo the curse.

Sam— _where’s Sam?_

He might be slowly regaining feeling in his limbs, but his other senses are still functional— and he can’t hear Sam’s heartbeat. Anywhere.

Just as he manages to push himself to his knees, Meg crashes into him and Ruby releases a blood curdling cry of anger. Meg’s unconscious when Gabriel gently pushes her to the floor. He won’t bring her back because she’ll just go back into the fight and this one— _this one is their fight_.

He jumps to his feet and then on the table, running along its length to the other end of the room where the fight is. He sees Ruby’s lips moving furiously, surely in the middle of casting a curse on them, but Azazel makes her throw up water.

The nasty thing about Ruby and those two is that all three are witches, but Alastair and Azazel’s magic is elemental: they only need to concentrate and imagine what they want the atoms in the air to become. Ruby relies on the power of the word. And in many ways, Ruby’s more powerful than either of them, as elemental magic disappears if the caster de-concentrates or is knocked unconscious, while Ruby’s magic would hold strong until she alone casts a counterspell. But she’s not powerful enough to take them both at once.

That’s why Gabriel evened the field when he tag teamed with her to imprison them all those decades back. Gabriel’s the best at fast attacks which kept them busy enough for her to cast curses that required more time and concentration.

He tears by Lucifer and Michael, feeling his own energy pushing at the seams of his vessel, and just as he’s in mid-air he channels some of it into his palm. It becomes  a thin line that he casts towards Alastair, snaring it around his throat and seeping his energy.

The surprise attack gives Michael and Lucifer the advantage they need to turn the tables. Michael and Lucifer concentrate their powerful blows on Azazel to keep him from coming to Alastair’s aid. Then Gabriel hears Ruby’s dry coughs.

Good.

In a bit she’ll return to muttering her curse and they’ll be done with these two. This time forever. He’ll make sure of it.

But his heart skips a beat and he remembers that Sam’s missing. Not to mention that the whole room is creaking and groaning as if it’s trying not to collapse in on itself.

Cracks in the walls and ceiling form and the grand chandelier swings ominously.

His heart skips another beat. He doesn’t understand why he feels this foreboding feeling. They have them. Alastair is almost out of energy. His grip tightens and he increases the amount of energy he’s absorbing from him.

“Ruby, get Meg out of here!” Lucifer shouts over the shriek of Michael’s Dragon as Azazel lashes out and hits him.

And then the threatening splinter happens— the floor underneath Gabriel’s feet caves in and he falls.

 

***

Growling.

That’s what he registers the first time he comes back to his senses and opens his eyes.

Then a world of pain as his renewed energies put his broken bones back together.

And finally the musty, earthy smell of the dungeons.

Buck has been growling for a long time if he has froth at the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, buddy,” he mumbles and moves to sit up, but Buck snaps at him in warning, which startles Gabriel so much that he freezes as he stares back at his dog. “Buck,” he tries again, more resolute.

Buck doesn’t cease his growling.

But when he glances behind him, his heart almost stops in his chest. Not five feet away from him, Sam lies unconscious on one side, blood flowing sluggishly from a nasty wound on his temple. Mist lies across his midriff, alternating between whining and growling softly, her feathery tail thumping weakly over Sam’s hip.

At least one of the hounds seems to recognize Gabriel. Good. 

He takes in the whole room: the missing cage, the lifeless chains, one of which is right next to Sam’s head, the stones scattered on the curved, stone stairs and the splintered door at the top. Now he has an inkling about what happened there. 

“Hey, buddy.” He slowly sits up on his side, Bucky’s body shaking with both adrenaline and his deep growls. “Is this retaliation for that time I hogged Sam to myself?” The smile he gives his hound is tremulous and weak; not even his words have the usual gaiety. “Are you still mad that I didn’t let him pat you? Because if so, I’m sorry, but it’ll keep happening if you keep intruding on our time together, ‘kay?” 

His eyes flicker to Sam’s body and then Mist’s injured leg. He pushes himself up and walks forward, despite Buck’s increasing growls. It’s Mist’s short bark that promptly shuts Buck up. His entire posture changes in the blink of an eye, going from coiled muscles, poised ready to pounce, to flat ears and tail between his legs. He even goes so far as to lay on the ground and cover his snout with his fore paws, tail moving weakly on the ground, and whining softly.

Gabriel by-passes him completely and falls ungracefully to his knees, hands trembling slightly as they hover above Sam and then Mist. He doesn’t know which one to tend to first. 

In the end, he decides that Mist should come first, to free her from the pain; her whole body is shaking from how much she must hurt. He puts his hand as close to the wound as he can get without touching and then concentrates his energies into that point. It takes a few seconds, but the blood that didn’t dry retreats inside and the wound closes, leaving behind just a faint line that will disappear in time. 

Mist yips, tail wagging energetically, which is a first. She stands up, Sam’s body trapped between her front and back paws and she does something Gabriel wouldn’t have expected even if someone told him he should: she pushes her snot into Gabriel’s neck and sighs. Gabriel freezes and it takes him a few long seconds to finally do what Mist was clearly expecting: carefully and slowly embrace her.

They don’t stay like that for long. Mist pushes out of Gabriel’s careful hug and trots towards Buck, licking his ear and pushing her snot into the side of his head. That’s another first Gabriel is seeing, and he thinks he might be dreaming. Mist was never so forward with her affections. Towards _anyone_ , be it biped or quadruped.

But he snaps out of it, once he realized that the two hounds are safe and sound and they won’t need Gabriel’s attention for now. He turns and pores over Sam. He takes in a shaky breath and the dam is cracking. The tremors return in full force and Gabriel has to steady himself by leaning forward and planting his hands on the ground, unable to take his eyes off of the person he cares for the most in this world.

He knows he should be using every big of his energy to bring Sam back, to make him _open his eyes,_ but he’s so shaken right now that he’s unable to think rationally.

“You promised me,” Gabriel whispers and then closes his eyes, trying to regain control over himself, but the image of Sam’s body is burned on the back of his eyelids. “You promised me you’d be _careful!”_ Gabriel yells suddenly, startling the hounds. 

Tears well up in his eyes as he clenches his fists into his lover’s shirt. “You _fucking_ **_promised_ ** _me, Sam!”_   he says through clenched teeth, anger and agony mingling, not unlike that night, only this time there’s no Death to stop him. He isn’t sure he’d listen to his old friend a second time, though. He’d be capable of tearing _through_ Death to get to the ones who—

But that’s not an urgent matter. Sam’s still alive. His heartbeat, faint but there, jars him out of his shock. His fingertips touch around the wound, channeling his energy back into Sam’s skin, helping the wound close faster.

Sam moves a hand, and then he groans softly, his clothes shifting as if something happened underneath his skin.

But Gabriel’s too relieved to take it into account and before Sam can say anything, Gabriel gathers his lover to his chest.

“You’re okay. You’re here. You’re alive. Good. It’s good. You’re okay. Okay. Thank fuck you’re okay, Sammy! I swear I didn’t know what— I’d’ve ripped through—”

“Gabe?” Sam murmurs, visibly trying to get his bearings.

It takes a couple of minutes to bring Sam up to speed with what happened while he was unconscious. As he expected, Sam looks ill when he realizes that he’s the cause of all of this.

“I’m so sorry! I— I was trying to get out of the attic when—” 

“Attic?” He frowns.

Sam nods miserably, glancing sideways and recounts everything that happened since Gabriel and Joshua left him alone in the library. “I don’t remember what happened after I opened it.”

Gabriel closes his eyes in silent desperation. “It’s the house. It brought you here.”

“But why? I’m… I’m an outsider.”

“You’re not,” Gabriel says quietly looking down at his hands covering Sam, and Sam throws him a confused look. “You’re not an outsider. Not to me.” He doesn’t tell Sam what he’d be capable of doing for his well-being. “Problem is,” he changes the subject,  “that they were never intended to _still_ be alive. My brothers should have eliminated them a long time ago. This is not your fault.”

“So this is why I’ve been having those dreams?” Sam asks as Gabriel helps him up to his feet.

He looks up at the hole in the ceiling through which he came. “My sensible guess is that the house took matters into its own hands.”

Grim determination settles over his features as they climb the stairs up to the ground floor.

“I would’ve swore that the attic was—” Sam begins as he looks back at the stairs leading straight onto a stone platform protruding over a black hole.

“Semi-sentient house, Sam. Distance is relative.”

But both theirs and the hounds’ attention are pulled by the screams and crashes happening outside, in the backyard. Since he fell, the fight must have changed location because Sam and Gabriel emerge through a huge hole in the wall.

Half of the backyard is made of stone and a bit of grass that gives way to a seventy feet drop into a river. On the other side a stylized labyrinth made of perfectly-trimmed hedges breaks the extended manicured lawn towards the forest. Gabriel used to take care of that labyrinth. He’s surprised that his brothers still keep it in check.

But such sentiments fly out of the window when both Mist and Buck attack the aggressors, incited by the ferociousness of Michael and Lucifer’s attacks and get discarded like annoying insects just as fast. Gabriel is right behind them, but just as he jumps preparing to use the same trick as before, Alastair, who has not moved ever since they came out, immobilizes everybody around. It only takes him lifting his arms up at chest level.

The very blood in Gabriel’s veins feels as if it seized up and he has trouble breathing properly. He can’t even turn his head to check on Sam. Then he’s dropped down and Alastair envelops them all in binding yellow chains that sizzle and burn whenever Gabriel pushes against them.

His gaze finds Death’s, whose neutral face tells Gabriel how distasteful he finds this whole charade. More than that, he’s silently urging Gabriel to get them out of this mess.

 

***

“Good,” Yellow Eyes says as Sam’s forced to join the group that they rounded up in the middle of the backyard. “Now that I have your attention, we can begin the game.”

“Savour your freedom as much as you can, Azazel,” Gabriel says quietly, packing every bit of threat into the glare he pins the witch who first spoke.

Azazel guffaws and Sam tries to move his limbs, but the electric coils sizzle through his clothes and makes him release a strangled cry.

“Perfect!” the shorter one — presumably Alastair — says with a sickening smile. “We have a volunteer already!” He comes before Sam and pushes his chin up. “What’s your name, handsome?”

Sam glares daggers at him.

“Ooh,” Azazel quips from behind, putting his forearm on his partner’s shoulder, “we have a stubborn one.”

“The stubborner they are, the better they squeal when we finish with them.”

“Leave— him— alone,” Gabriel says through clenched teeth.

Azazel cackles. “What’s the matter, little Incubus? Not so threatening now that a human your house is supposed to protect is at our mercy, hm?” 

“Why would we do that?” Alastair chimes in, glinting eyes examining Gabriel as if he’s the perfect specimen for a sick experiment. “He’s a nobody. No connection to— oh.” Some kind of realization dawns on his face and then he releases a chuckle. “I see. That’s why we could get out.”

“Meaning?” Azazel asks.

“This one,” he points at Sam, “is our little arrogant Incubus’—  beloved.”

“Him? But he’s so… human.”

“That’s what will make it even more fun.”

Alastair motions with his hand and, against Sam’s will, he’s dragged forward along with Gabriel. They’re forced to kneel before each other before Azazel props his forearm on Gabriel’s shoulder, and stares at Sam.

“So here’s how we’re gonna play,” Azazel drawls, “one of you will be tortured and the other one has to watch.”

“The catch?” Alastair says and bends down to catch Sam’s attention. “The one who screams the loudest dies first. But who should be the one tortured, hm, human?”

Sam never felt as angry as he feels right now. It boils in his veins. He can’t even feel the restraints leaving angry welts into his skin because he’s so going to break out and punch this asshole in the face. Nobody touches Gabriel!

Gabriel, for his part, struggles like he’s having the same thought process.

“I say— what was that?” Azazel inquires, bending forward. 

“If you touch him,” Sam says through gritted teeth, “I’m gonna kill you dead!”

They both guffaw. 

“Then it’s decided!” Alastair claps his hands once. “Incubus will be tortured first.”

Distantly, Sam hears commotion to their side where the others are incapacitated, a groan and then a hard thud. But he can’t take his eyes off of Gabriel— Gabriel who’s meeting Sam’s gaze with determination, the muscle in his jaw jumping as he’s preparing himself for the pain.

He hears distant growls and snaps, like a background thrum that resonates within him, but he’s too focused on Gabriel who resists crying out when whatever they planned to do to him first hits. He closes his eyes and clenches his jaw even more as his body convulses. Gasps escape him, little rushed, half intakes of breath. And then they do something else, worse, something Sam can’t see because it must be internal, and Gabriel’s whole body sizes up. 

But he doesn’t make more than pained sounds, little whimpers that shatter Sam’s heart because _he’s unable to help him_ and it hurts him more than whatever they’ll do to him next.

“Gabe! Gabe, stay with me! Hey, look at me! Gabe!”

Sam fights his bindings, shouting profanities at the two who only laugh in his face. And in the background of all of this, howls and yips stir something deep within Sam, even as he keeps calling Gabe’s name. But he’s fighting those, too, almost on instinct because Gabriel is his priority. That’s where his focus is.

And then a sickening pop sounds, Gabe’s left shoulder sitting at an odd angle. A long cry is ripped from Gabe, so intense that it resonates within Sam’s bones, and he falls down on one side.

The stirrings deep within his core become more intense, the rush of blood in his ears almost masking away his violent heartbeat. Sam watches in horror as Gabriel’s body still jolts intermittently, as if it had been electrocuted and his muscles are quivering. 

But he’s not moving. He’s— lying still. So still— 

“That’s all?” Azazel comments, frowning. He twists his hand and Gabriel arches up, a frozen cry caught on his lips as he has trouble breathing properly. “So stubborn.”

And then the other witch pushes his palms towards Gabriel’s prone body that makes him fold into himself as he shouts so loud Sam’s ears ring.

He sees red as something clicks deep within him.

The howls and snaps get even more insistent and rushed, as if they, too, try to rip through their bindings. 

Gabriel’s cry reached deep down into Sam’s most hidden recesses and— pulled something out. It didn't even poke or prod. It effectively grabbed at whatever that was and _pulled_ with so much force and vengeance that a cry tears its way out of Sam even as he feels the bindings shatter around him.

 

***

Death sees the change in Sam, the way his bones rearrange under his skin, how the bindings sizzle even as Sam stands up.

He rips through them effortlessly.

Mist and Buck have only become more restless since Sam transformed, unhindered by the damage the bindings do to their bodies. They seem— possessed and encouraged at the same time by Sam’s newfound power.

Sam throws himself over Alastair, pinning him down with his own body weight. He’s so in-tune with the two sighthounds that when he turns around and looks at where the hounds are showing their fangs, prepared to pounce, and says, more a string of sounds that vibrate in his chest than human speech, _“protect Gabriel,”_ they snap out of the bindings and attack the second witch.

For the first time since he first met Sam, Death sees true wrath on the young man’s face. Deep and twisted and— eyes that flicker between hazel and red. And his muscles have become twice as pronounced, making him appear tall and sturdy like a mountain. His face is less human, more wolf-like with a scruff covering his jaw.

A gruesome fight ensues, with Sam — now a hybrid wolf — throwing Alastair around like a rag doll and the hounds attacking Azazel as if that’s what they’ve been doing their whole life. Alastair’s magic doesn’t seem to affect Sam much. He simply pushes through every kind of attack.

“Oh my god,” Ruby says, little more than a whisper, where she’s standing at his side. “Is that Sam?”

“I don’t understand,” Lucifer adds, the frown etched in his voice. “He’s human. He never had the supernatural aura. Or any kind of aura.”

“Our Father had been only a human,” Michael says, a pensive tone to his voice, “until Mother died and he unlocked god-like powers.”

Lucifer purses his lips as he considers Sam from a different angle.

Death extends one of the wings he keeps on another plane of existence and touches Gabriel’s shoulder, healing any internal damage he sustained. Gabriel’s bindings have weakened as he doesn’t poses a threat anymore, so he should be able to rip them when he wakes up.

Then his gaze steals to the fight where the witches found a weakness in Sam’s apparent invincible shape, using ice sheets to curb his fast attacks. The hounds are not faring better, either, as their attacks are repelled by Azazel throwing fireballs and electricity their way.

Soon, both Sam and the hounds are too injured to get up.

The witches completely ignore the passed out hounds as they converge over Sam.

Alastair lifts Sam in the air as he struggles to get out of there, but his left leg is bleeding and dangling limply. He snarls as a last resort against their combined powers.

Then they twist their hands and the snap makes Sam go limp. 

 

***

Gabriel watches as Sam falls to the ground, dumbfounded—in shock. Every dream, every plan and hope he had for the two of them shatters, breaks into pieces so small there's nothing left behind but hollowness and despair.

Seeing the one person, the one being in this entire universe he came to love more than life itself, die right before his own eyes kills him. Truly and irrevocably kills whatever good intentions he has left.

“ _Sam!_ ” 

All hell breaks loose.


	21. Chapter 21

Sam is his Alpha and Omega; his Ying and Yang; his peace, where he is war; his happiness, where he is sorrow; his calm, where he is storm. His day's first dawn and last sunset. 

_Sam is!_

Sam is.

The power doesn't flood his veins lighting-fast; it comes like a crashing wave, enormous and terrifying, dizzying his senses and calming his mind, as if he materialized himself inside the eye of the hurricane. The power unlocks every closed passage, every hidden memory. Past, present and future meld together. 

It's not Gabriel that breaks the spell keeping him on his knees; not just  _one_ Gabriel that heats the air surrounding him and makes the earth quake and groan beneath his feet.

It's every past version of himself, every layer upon layer upon layer since the moment he first breathed into this world. It's all the trials and tribulations, all the failures and hard-won battles, everything that contributed to mold the Gabriel that's smelling blood right now.

 

Death stretches a fraction his left wing in the ethereal plane of existence, touching the sighthounds. He both makes sure that they’re still alive and heals whatever wounds they have, be it internal or external. He releases a soft, inconspicuous sigh of relief when they’re stable, but leaves them unconscious. It wouldn’t do them any good if they woke up and started attacking again. They might actually go on a murder spree this time, if they realize that Sam’s dead to this world, seeing as they forged a bond with him in between Death’s one blink and the other.

"What is happening to him?” Ruby shouts over the roaring of the earth and the howling of the wind, barely keeping her balance. She still leans protectively over her would-be, unconscious spouse. He makes sure any internal damages are healed up. “He looks  _terrifying."_  

Death regards Gabriel for one short moment, taking in the power that exudes from him, how the air vibrates, matter, no matter what form it took, resonating like instruments brought to life by one, true master. It thrums just below the level of decibels for one who isn't as attuned to the Universe and the forces that govern it as Death is. 

Waves of pure energy pulse and coil out of him, forcing the trees to fall back, and making Gabriel look twenty feet bigger than his mortal shell; lashes strike everything in their wake, extending even to the house with brutal violence. They take the shape of formless wings, six in number, sprouting not unlike vices from Gabriel's back and extending in six different direction. The house withstands every single blow stalwartly, as if protected by a force field. 

He feels Gabriel's sorrow turn to righteous fury. He reached a point where nobody could stop him from unleashing every bit of his power on the insignificant creatures that dared took Sam away. Not even Death, although, to be quite honest, he is in no hurry to take such an action.

He is bound by  _powerful magic_ , after all.

"Gabriel is unlocking his true potential," is the only thing he says, before Gabriel speaks again.

“How dare you take what is not yours to take!” Gabriel’s power rolls off in waves, voice unnatural, more guttural and low, but so potent that the two witches are forced to their knees. “He belongs _by my side_ and your blasphemous ways have tampered with the one whom I chose as my other half. Your time among the living has long since expired, yet you were allowed to live by  ** _my mercy alone_  **. Only  **I**  can take and give life back!” 

Gabriel does not give the two witches time to take in a breath, because he opens his mouth and begins sucking both their life forces. They cannot fight it, no matter how much they try to resist it. Gabriel has proven how much more powerful he can be.

They scream themselves hoarse. It seems that Gabriel's much more brutal in taking than Death has accounted for. 

His attention, though, is attracted by a movement right besides Sam’s inert body, where the two sighthounds lay unmoving, but still alive.

Sam Winchester is standing and looking around in confusion. He does not remember what happened to him, does not know that there is a battle still going on right in front of him. Yet. His eyes find Death and the frown clears away. Not even Death is able to catch the swift change from confusion to panic and fear the moment Sam sees him. But they are not for himself, Death realizes.

“Gabriel,” he says, striding purposefully towards Death. “Where is he? What happened to him? Tell me he’s okay! Please! I couldn’t—” 

“Gabriel is still alive,” Death interrupts him.

Relief washes Sam clean and he almost collapses on his own two feet from the force of it.

“Did—”  Sam swallows and tries again, “did we win? Are the two witches dead?”

Death’s eyes flicker up to meet Sam’s apprehensive ones. He glances at Gabriel who has almost finished taking the two witches’ life force. Sam looks behind him, trying to follow Death’s line of sight, but he’s in the veil right now. He does not possess the ability to see the living.

“Is it—”  Sam looks at Death with something akin to horror; milder. “Is Gabriel still fighting?”

“He is,” Death acquiesces.

Now the horror takes full proportions on Sam’s face. A step forward and he’s close to enter Death’s personal space. “You have to take me back! I can’t die and leave Gabriel alone to face those two!” He is getting desperate. And ruder. “You’re still under their spell, right? You can’t move a finger to help Gabriel. Death,  _please_ , bring me back! I  _need_ to help Gabriel! I can’t let Gabriel die, too!”

Death glances up at Sam. “It would be futile,” he says, eyes flickering at Gabriel who has finished depriving Alastair and Azazel of their life force.

The bindings disappear.

“What.” Sam’s scandalized look is swiftly replaced by anger and frustration. “You can’t be serious! I never asked you anything. Why can’t you grant me this  _one_ request? It’s Gabriel’s life at stake! You can’t tell me all the time you’ve spent together didn’t make you see him as  _at least_ someone you’d save the life of should—”  

The verbal diarrhea comes to a sudden halt as Sam feels himself being pulled by an invisible force. He lifts shocked eyes up to meet Death’s.

He smiles. “I said it would be futile, because Gabriel is already working towards bringing you back to life.”

Sam’s lips contract around the beginning of ‘what’, but before the sound can get out he disappears from Death’s veil.

 

***

Gabriel trudges towards the only being in creation he would gladly and willingly lay down his life for, falling ungracefully to his knees and pushing away a stray lock of hair with trembling hands. He felt so much power tonight, both attacked by it and used by him to attack, that he's so drained right now, as if he finally got to empty the well that's been quietly living inside of him. He has no idea if he'll be able to muster up that much power again, but he knows that for Sam it's not over just yet. They still have a chance at happiness.

He leans down, propping himself on a hand near Sam's head for stability, and breathes life back into his other half.

He's so weak that he doesn't register the moment he touches Sam's lips with his own and promptly falls into unconsciousness.

 

**A day later**

Sam closes the notebook when the knock comes and the hounds’ heads lift to look at the door.

“Come in,” he says, and the door opens silently to admit Lucifer.

“Hello, Sam,” he greets, neither friendly nor hostile.

He’s still wearing those old-fashioned clothes as if he hasn’t moved from the Victorian fashion era just yet. Mist and Bucky return to lying down, Mist on the fluffy rug in front of the fireplace and Bucky at Gabriel’s feet on the bed.

“Good afternoon, Lucifer.”

His eyes flicker to Sam’s right where Gabriel’s sleeping form lies. After Gabriel brought Sam back he fell into a coma-like state. Joshua told Sam that it’s his body and mind’s way of rebooting from and compartmentalizing the events. After all, Gabriel went through seeing his soulmate die right before his eyes. It’s a trauma that he needs to process through. And he advised Sam to share as much physical comfort as he could; it helps speed the recovery.

That’s why Sam has not left their room except for bathroom breaks. 

In the past fourteen hours he’s had Ruby, Lucifer, Michael, Joshua, Death and Lucifer again visit them. They all spent between a couple of minutes to half an hour with Sam— except Lucifer, who stayed an hour the first time he came.

That had been an awkward sixty minutes as neither spoke to each other. Sam had no idea what topic of conversation would be safe with Gabriel’s brother, so he said nothing.

“How is he?” Lucifer asks, the same question he asked the second time he came.

“The same as two hours ago when you came,” he says it in a teasing manner, but Lucifer nods with grim determination, not moving from his spot. “Please, sit down.” He motions towards the fireplace and Lucifer picks the armchair as he did previously.

Sam returns to the notebook, fingers sometimes tracing the indents into the wine-colored leather cover. But he’s reading the same line over and over, unable to concentrate on it. He closes it again and places it on the covers near his thigh. One hand goes into Gabriel’s hair, stroking gently. If Lucifer wants to stay here as if Gabriel’s unconscious state is his fault, then Sam might as well use the man for something other than decòr.

“How’s Meg?”

“Sleeping her injuries away,” he says instantly, still staring into the mid distance.

Sam studies his somber profile. The way he keeps himself perfectly still and perfectly stone faced, as if even breathing would— he isn’t sure. Upset the quiet? Make Gabriel yell at him? Sam sighs and looks down at his lover, currently oblivious to the fact that the brother he holds a grudge against has been the only one who has visited him more than twice today.

“How are you?” Sam asks out of the blue and Lucifer’s so startled by the question that he looks at Sam as if he just revealed the secret to the universe and he doesn’t believe it.

Sam’s too stunned by Lucifer’s reaction to gloat about the fact that the earlier aristocratic asshole is nowhere to be seen. He looks so— humane. And vulnerable, in a way. But more than that his expression morphs into one of confusion, as if Sam asked the most difficult question he could utter.

“I’m… fine,” he croaks, his gaze falling over the empty table.

“Are you sure? Because you sound— and he’s gone.”

Sam sighs again, but this time at an empty armchair, and shakes his head, then looks down at Gabriel. No, he’s not gonna have any of this disappearance act from him, if Sam has any say in this. And he will.

Dinner comes along and Sam instructs the maid to leave the tray on the small table; she curtsies when Death appears before the open doorway. 

“May I?” he asks, and Sam nods and motions for him to come in.

The door closes behind him on its own accord— if that were possible without any mechanism attached to it.

Again, Sam offers to share the food with Death, but he declines, accepting the coffee, though. Mist comes to receive the customary pat and scratch from Death, then climbs on the settee and places his head over Sam’s thigh because that’s their new thing. Sam draws comfort from the gesture, just now realizing that he needed that.

“How are you, Sam?”

He chews the bite as he takes Death in. “I’m not sure. Fine, I guess. My injuries healed completely when Gabriel brought me back. There’s not a trace of what’s been done to me.” He glances at Gabriel who lies still on his back, his chest rising and falling regularly.

“And emotionally?”

Sam looks down at his meal. “He’s not awake, is he?” he murmurs, and strokes at his chest, feeling the phantom feeling of a cold lump there.

Death doesn’t say anything for a while and Sam finishes the broth and half of the second course. He doesn’t touch the dessert.

“Am I—” Sam stops, swallows, then takes a deep breath. “Am I a super now?”

Death’s head leans to one side, regarding Sam. “I don’t feel the usual supernatural aura around you.”

“But what I did yesterday— that was…”

“Extraordinary.”

Sam snorts. “I wouldn’t describe it as that.”

“It was out of the ordinary, regardless of what you think.” He pauses. “Thank you, Sam.”

Surprise fills his features. “What for?”

“For fighting for Gabriel. He needs someone like that by his side. He’s been fighting alone all his life. You’re good for him.”

“Please stop saying goodbye without saying goodbye,” Sam says feebly, because the rest of what Death uttered sounds too big for the quiet bubble in which Sam took refuge.

Death sips his coffee and the silence returns. Sam drinks his, but it tastes like nothing, although he knows it has flavor.

“Do you think I’ll— change back?”

“I am not sure. I have only heard of one human becoming a supernatural being just by willing it alone.”

“What happened to this person?” Sam asks, eager to find out what happened to them and if Sam would be like them.

“I wouldn’t know. He disappeared shortly after avenging his wife’s untimely demise.”

“I didn’t. I didn’t want to become something else,” Sam says quietly with a frown. “I just— had this feeling, deep in my gut. This instinct that told me to give in to whatever it was, that it would save Gabriel if I did.”

“Then you are one of a kind, Sam. You might never turn into a hybrid wolf again.”

“But there will always be that tiny possibility that I will.”

Death inclines his head in a quasi nod. Sam sighs and puts the cup of unfinished coffee back on the tray before he gets up— to Mist’s displeasure as she, too, gets up and plops down on the fluffy rug. Bucky lifts his head from Gabriel’s ankles, but when Sam only walks around aimlessly, he returns to lying down with a sigh of his own.

“And Gabriel,” Sam says, like it’s been sitting on his tongue for a long time, “how did he— I was dead. How did he bring me back?”

“He’s an Incubus.”

“Yes, I know. He can take and give energy, but— death? That’s— that’s god-like.”

Death acquiesces. “It is true that in normal circumstances he would not have the power to bring somebody back to life. He would probably need to take the life of a lot of people to accumulate enough energy to give life to another. But even then, he would still need something of his own to accomplish such a feat. And that something, his life essence, cannot be tapped into at will. It is about self-preservation, Sam. And he has that in spades.”

A humorless smile crests Sam’s lips. “Where was that yesterday?”

The corners of Death’s mouth tick upwards. “You are not just anybody, Sam. He chose you.”

Sam releases an impatient sigh. “He chose countless others, more powerful than me, with a better background.”

“But he never regarded them as people he wanted to spend his life with.” The statement has Sam at a loss for words. “It’s because it’s you that he was able to unlock his true self and save you. If he didn’t feel as strongly as he does for you, he would never have gone beyond what he knew he could do. He was unable to accept a world in which you did not exist, just like you refused to accept that you were powerless and couldn’t do anything to save him. You both went beyond what you knew yourselves to be capable of to save that which you held dear.”

Sam swallows thickly as he stares at Gabriel’s lax face.

A knock comes and both hounds lift their heads.

“Maybe you’re right,” Sam says quietly before he invites the new guest in.

The moment the door opens and Lucifer meets Death’s gaze, the temperature in the room changes substantially. But the stare doesn’t last for more than a couple of seconds.

“I shall see you tomorrow, Sam,” Death says before he disappears.

“Meg woke up,” Lucifer announces in the ensuing silence.

Sam looks at him, then nods.

“She’ll most probably come and visit you tomorrow— if Ruby releases her from her clutches.”

That, at least, has Sam smile with more than just his mouth. They stare at each other for a while until Sam realizes that this is Gabriel’s (and now his) territory and that Lucifer never moved about without Sam’s explicit consent. He’d almost roll his eyes if he wasn’t— touched by such consideration.

“You know, you could show this side to your brother, too,” Sam says with that tone of voice that tells the other he’s seeing right through them.

“What for?” A bit of that sardonic aristocrat peaks up.

“Please, take a seat.” Sam motions with his hand, then goes back to the bed, feeling restless for being away from Gabriel for such a long time; he takes Gabriel’s hand into his. “And I don’t know, showing your humane side to your brother might make him reconsider you and your shared past.”

Lucifer snorts, though he looks at Gabriel almost instantly. Sam wants to tease this guy some more. 

“Empty words. You don’t know my brother.”

Okay, he is getting tired of hearing that from this dude.

“You know what? Between me and you, you’re the one who doesn’t know the least bit who Gabriel is. Have you seen each other since Kali?” Lucifer purses his lips and refuses to look at Sam. “Thought so,” he mutters to himself. “Fact stands that Gabriel is not the same person as before. People change, whatever side of the supernatural they’re from. Even you, I suppose, changed since then. You told me that you were young and prone to make irrational decisions. You don’t look or behave like such a brat— at least not that outwardly.”

Lucifer turns a frown at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He rolls his eyes. “That you’ve come a long way from that moment in your past. You both should let go of that past. Stop letting it define what and how your relationship is.”

“It takes two—”

“—to tango. Yes, I’m aware of that. But one of you two needs to take that first step or you’ll never get past your divergences.”

“Why are you giving me advice on this?”

“Because you look like you need it. I’d say the same to Gabriel.”

“Yeah, well, nobody asked you to.”

“Really?” Sam lifts an eyebrow. “That’s why you came here four times today, because you don’t want to close the gap between you and your brother. Now it all makes sense.”

Lucifer stands up abruptly. “Who are you? The next shrink this country doesn’t need?”

The déjà-vu hits Sam so hard he can only blink as Lucifer disappears and Sam’s flooded with the memory of the argument he had with Gabriel not long ago.

“Nope, still a brat. No evolution whatsoever.”

 He scoots down until he lies on his side, forehead touching Gabriel’s ear and temple. 

“I miss you, Gabe,” he whispers into Gabriel’s shoulder. “Wake up, please.” He brings Gabe’s hand and kisses it before he places it back over his chest, his own covering it.

That’s how he falls asleep.

 

***

His eyes open as soon as he becomes aware of his surroundings. 

For a moment, panic grips him because he doesn’t recognize the shapes of the furniture, and there’s a distinct piece missing— something that had been bound to him by a contract.

_Sam!_

He can’t sit up as his reflexes push him to because the weight of something on his chest makes him stop almost instantly. He traces the shadow all the way down to the source and when he sees Sam’s lax face on the pillow next to him, he relaxes, scooting over until he’s under Sam’s chin. The arm tightens over his back, a soft sigh ruffling his hair as he feels light thumps against the mattress and a body move behind him before another one plasters itself to his ass and legs.

He knows it’s Bucky that came to sniff at his nape and lick experimentally, tail thumping energetically when Gabriel extends a hand behind his back to pet him in acknowledgement.

The last bit of his worry melts away as he’s cocooned by the ones he trusts implicitly with his life, and soon enough he falls back asleep.

 

***

Sam had refused to let him out of his arms even though Gabriel complained of a very full and very threatening to explode bladder, but it all solved itself in the end. And by the time lunch came around, everybody visited them at least once. Everybody, that is, except Lucifer. Meg still wanted the wedding, even though Ruby was a bit reluctant to let her even walk without assistance which only pissed Meg off even more. 

Really, it was hilarious to see that he wasn’t the only one that had a lover who fussed over him worse than a mother would. 

“Next thing I know, you’re gonna spoon-feed me,” Gabriel quipped, not a little bit put upon about Sam’s worry over every single thing he was going.

“Don’t tempt me.”

Gabriel had sighed. He knew how Sam had felt those days.

But even though Meg and Gabriel weren’t 100% recovered, the wedding still proceeded, if nothing else at least to celebrate the defeat of the Milton’s long-time thorn in their sides. Michael and Lucifer burned Azazel and Alastair’s husks in the backyard. He had been a spectator to that from the window on the second floor. That had been what Gabriel had done to those two: sucked every bit of their life essence until their bodies turned hollow and wrinkly. Sam’s warm bodie plastered to his back had been a comfort he relished.

But Gabriel still caught a moment in which he had been alone — Sam being distracted by Meg requiring his height for some fabric pushed on top of an old credence — to tear Michael a new one. And maybe it was because he knew Gabriel wasn’t completely there (he still couldn’t move around at his usual speed and he had to take breaks from  _walking_ out of all things) or because he felt something like fear of Gabriel, but Michael had been pretty meek and quiet throughout the whole thing.

At least Gabriel had taken it off his chest.

Then, all three took on their respective roles and the headmaster along with his two brothers bestowed their blessings and consent upon Meg and Ruby’s union.

After that, the party began and Sam brought him a tumbler with two digits of scotch. Gabriel used that silk, black cravat to pull his lover down for a long and hard kiss that left Sam flushed, pupils blown, and Gabriel hungering for more. But Joshua interrupted Gabriel’s train of thought and whisk Sam away, leaving Gabriel to enjoy the scotch alone and watch the ballroom being filled with music, chatter, and food.

“You should marry Sam, you know,” Lucifer says neutrally from his left and Gabriel promptly chokes on his scotch.

“Warn a man when you're about to drop a bomb like that!” Lucifer offers a small smile, but Gabriel looks suspiciously at him. “And aren't you trying to harm him in any way possible?”

Lucifer averts his gaze. “No.” He sighs. “Don't you think we've been on bad terms for far too long?”

Gabriel quirks an eyebrow. “It all depends on who's murder you're plotting behind my back.”

“I'm not plotting any murder. I just want you to be happy,” he says subdued.

“The same way you wanted me to be happy with Kali, right?” Gabriel rolls his eyes, then downs his drink and turns to leave.

“I'm sorry, okay?” Lucifer says in a hurry. Gabriel stops dead in his tracks and turns a disbelieving look at his brother. “I know it's too late now and you probably won't believe a word I'll say, but I am truly sorry for causing you so much suffering. I admit that what I did is unforgivable—“

“You don't say,” Gabriel intones, crossing his arms. He should leave. He  _wants_ to, but for some mysterious reason, his feet won't move.

Lucifer swallows and looks at the people milling around, talking merrily to each other. His gaze finds Sam, animatedly gesticulating something to Joshua, to the man's amused expression.

“I was afraid of losing my brother.” He looks at Gabriel, no mask, just raw emotions painted on his face; Gabriel drinks it in. “I was terrified of losing you to that woman.”

“So what? You think you won't lose me if I marry Sam?”

A broken smile crosses Lucifer's lips. “I already lost you.”

It's like a knife to Gabriel's heart. The words sting and spread like poison, numbing his body and senses. He leans on the pillar, hand supporting him at the level of his shoulder.

“Why didn't you talk to me back then?” Gabriel says softly.

Lucifer smiles wryly. “Would you have listened to me?”

No, he wouldn't have. The way Gabriel was back then, he wouldn't have. He would’ve killed Lucifer on sight. Gabriel isn't proud of his past self of that period. He clenches his fist on the cold, white granite.

“I knew I wouldn't have been able to talk to you, so when I went to Kali to ask her to be an intermediary between us, she refused, saying your mind was already made up and that she couldn't do anything to change it.”

“So you killed her,” Gabriel adds, tone flat.

“It felt like I was talking to you. It felt like a rehearsal. I already knew that you wouldn't have seen reason, no matter how much I'd have pleaded with you, but having it proven right there before my eyes was like a cold slap to my face.”

“You lost it,” Gabriel intones, once again his voice flat.

Lucifer pauses, looks at the whirling rich, brown liquid in his tumbler. “I lost it,” he acquiesces quietly.

Gabriel regards him for a few moments, expression blank and eyes stormy with conflicting feelings. 

“So it could've been me lying cold and dead in a pool of blood.” 

He doesn't know why he says this, why he twists the knife in the bleeding wound. His brother already looks shredded into piece. Why is he trying to shred those pieces even more?

Lucifer's haunted gaze goes through him, probably replaying the deed, only changing the victim. It's Gabriel lying on the cold marble, supine, dark red blood expanding around his head. It's Kali who cries murder to high heavens. 

It's Lucifer breaking down, sliding despondently along the wet stone wall, crying and gasping for air, as he tears himself apart because  _he didn't mean to, he didn't want to really lose his brother._

Gabriel takes a deep breath, pulling himself from the tragic thought, as his hand rubs over a spot on his chest. It hurts him imagining his brother's agonizing pain, if Gabriel would have been there instead of Kali. It hurts him, because he can feel the same pain, even though he doesn't understand why.

Their feud is old and wounds are still open and bleeding in the present day. But he looks at his brother and sees— time, guilt, sorrow, conflict, pain, redemption. Lucifer wants redemption; he wants Gabriel's forgiveness.

“Why now?” he says. “Why do you want me to forgive you now?”

“Because you're happy, and because I made peace with the fact that I lost you. I just want us to bury the past.”

“I was happy with Kali, too.”

“You were,” Lucifer acquiesces.

“And Sam shares some traits with her.”

Lucifer hums noncommittally as he glances back at Sam. “He has some things in common with Kali, true, but he also has something Kali wasn't and wouldn't have been able to give you.” A pause, during which Lucifer regards his brother. “He has love. You and Kali were attracted to each other, but I don't believe you ever saw her as more than what you saw in your flings before Sam. He's capable of giving you what you need and more.”

Gabriel smiles as he looks at Sam, still gesticulating as he tells something to Joshua. “He gives as good as he takes,” he says, the smile stretching, proud and smitten and all that's in-between.

“And you still don't want to marry him?” Lucifer quirks an eyebrow.

The smile dims on Gabriel's face. “I don't have a ring. And a wedding is still in full—”

He trails off as Lucifer's hand is presented under his nose, fist closed. Slowly (and dramatically), Lucifer opens it, revealing two rings. Gabriel's eyes widen, recognizing one of the two.

“That's—“

“Our father's wedding band, yes.” 

Gabriel takes it between his fingers and turns it every which way. “And the other one?” he asks, looking at the slightly thinner ring with something like awe.

Lucifer smiles indulgently at Gabriel's childlike amazement. “It was my mother's.”

Gabriel's eyes dart up to meet Lucifer's dark blue ones. They look at each other for a few seconds, then Gabriel puts back his father's wedding ring and closes Lucifer's fist. 

“I can't take them.”

“Yes, you can. And you will,” Lucifer says calmly, taking Gabriel's hand and depositing the two bands into his brother's palm, securing them there by closing Gabriel's fist just like Gabriel did moments ago. “I'm giving them to you, along with my blessing.”

Gabriel's expression morphs. “As if I can't marry without your blessing,” he says petulantly.

Lucifer chuckles. “You really can't.”

Gabriel sighs. “I'll need Michael's blessing, too.”

Lucifer looks somewhere over his brother's head, nodding minutely. “I don't think that will be an issue.”

Gabriel looks down at the rings in his palm. He's really about to do this. And his brother was the one to push him into this direction. Somehow, he's too giddy and terrified at the prospect of proposing to Sam. He both can't wait to do it and dreading the moment; the dually opposing emotions are refreshing.

He stops right besides Lucifer, before he goes, their shoulders brushing. “You didn't lose me,” he says quietly, then proceeds towards Sam.

He jumps on the nearest table, glasses and cutlery falling down, to the tables' occupants' protest.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says as he goes along, creating havoc. “Sorry, it's important.” Then louder. “Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me a moment of your attention!” The buzzing noise ceases almost instantly.

“Gabriel, what the fuck do you think you're doing?” Ruby stands up angrily at the center of the opposite long table. “If it's another of your trick, you can—“

“Sorry, sweetcheeks,” he interrupts her with a grin. “This time it's not a trick.”

“That's rich coming from the Master of Tricks,” says Samandriel from the other end of the table.

Gabriel ignores the jibe and searches for Sam, whom he finds a moment later. “I'll have to ask Sam Winchester to, please, come up here.”

“Gabriel, I'm not climbing on that table!” Sam says, the outrage evident in his voice. “People are still eating!”

Gabriel looks down at the two ladies who don't know if they should ignore him and continue eating or save their plates from Gabriel's indiscriminate feet. Gabriel saves them the trouble, by pushing everything on that portion of the table off to the sides. 

“Now they're not,” he announces, proud and smug. The two ladies huff and stand up from their seats, haughtily migrating out of the room. 

Sam approached him at some point, but he still didn't come up, as he asked him to. The fingers stroke his palm and implicitly the wedding rings in his  trousers pocket.

“Gabriel, please come down,” Sam begs him, using his puppy eyes trick. On any other day, Gabriel would have given in almost immediately. Today is not that day.  Today he stays strong against Sam's second most powerful weapon. 

“I won't come down if you don't come up first,” he says, free hand on his hips, a challenge in his eyes.

“You won't let this wedding proceed smoothly, will you?”

Gabriel grins toothily. “Not if I can help it.”

Sighing in defeat, Sam climbs on the table as Gabriel asked him to, extra careful to not break anything else, and mindful of all the gazes pointed at them.

Sam says between his clenched teeth and frozen smile, “I came up. Can we  please go down, now?”

Gabriel's smug grin doesn't relent. “I'll go down, you'll stay up.”

Surprise washes over Sam's expression. “What?” he says, as Gabriel goes on one knee, eliciting a few gasps. “Gabriel, what are you doing? Get up.” He tries to grab him by the shoulders and pull him up, but Gabriel wouldn't move.

“Sam Winchester,” he begins, pulling out the hand he kept in his pocket. “Human-slash-wolf hybrid extraordinaire, will you marry me?” More gasps are heard through the deadly silent room.

Sam's eyes are competing with the plates on the table in size. “What? Gabriel...”

The grin is gone, leaving behind a serious and determined Gabriel. “I know I'm a dick most of the time and hot the rest of that time.” Giggles ensues; Sam smiles anxiously. “I also know that we can fight over stupid things and I can be very stubborn, but I will apologize — eventually.” More giggles; Sam swallows down the emotions. “You know I love you. I've been telling you this through a gesture you didn't know the meaning behind (my fault, I admit), but gestures aren't meant to be explained. Not when deep down you knew and felt the magnitude of what I was offering you.”

Sam eyes are shiny, breath uneven. Gabriel is not better, either. He has to take a deep breath to continue.

“I promise that if you'll marry me, I'll tell you I love you more often,” he says, trying for a joke, but it sounds too nervous to have their public do anything more than giggling softly. “Will you have me, flaws and charm and tricks and jokes and  stubbornness and all that's left?”

Sam has to close his eyes. His hands are shaking, just like Gabriel's. The moments it takes Sam to get himself under control, those moments feel like they won't end, and Gabriel's heart is close to breaking free from his chest.

“Y-yes,” Sam says, voice full of emotions and disbelief and love. “Yes, I'll have you, flaws and all.”

The room erupts into cheers and whistles and applause, and Gabriel grabs Sam's shirt and pulls him down for a starving kiss. God, how he missed Sam's lips. And now they'll be his to plunder and taste for ever.

 

The moment Sam comes to the altar, Gabriel is undressing him with his eyes; so much undiluted desire there that Sam's steps falter, already his skin prickling with the sensation that he's walking naked towards Gabriel. It only took Ruby and Meg a few hours to prepare them. And it’s only now that it finally sinks in what he’s about to do. It’s so out of the blue, that he spares an apologetic thought towards Dean as well as a bit of worry that he still hasn’t contacted Sam.

When he finally stops and turns to look at Gabriel, he is already a little bit short of breath. Gabriel looks like he jumped out of the many portraits arrayed along the expansive walls of the castle. The only thing that misses from the black tailed coat, Ascot white tie and double breasted white vest is a top hat and maybe a cane.

“I promise I won't let you out of my bed for the next eternity,” Gabriel says, pupils blown wide, not caring that the whole room's attention is pending from their lips.

A wave of giggles is heard from their audience and Sam's cheeks flush, both from excitement at that prospect and from embarrassment.

“Brother,” — Lucifer leans down, voice low but still loud enough to be heard in the spacious hall — “I know you're impatient to get your beloved naked as soon as possible, but we're still ways until the party finishes.”

And then Sam bends down on one knee, takes Gabriel’s left hand and kisses the inside of his wrist just as he did repeatedly over the past week. Gasps fill the room and Gabriel’s expression should be immortalized.

“Sam,” he whispers, broken and full of emotion.

“I plead my soul, my heart and my mind to you, Gabriel Milton. From hence forth, I shall strive to be the best friend that fights you when you’re wrong, the brother that plays pranks on you when you least expect it, and the lover that gives as good as he takes behind closed doors.From now until the dawn of time, I shall remain yours and yours only.” A few snickers raise from the crowd.

Gabriel is grinning down at Sam. “I like what you did with the ancient vow. But we shall negotiate the terms for that last part.”

Lucifer takes a small step forward. “Brother, let’s keep the sexcapades private. There’s no need to traumatize unassuming strangers — or family members.”

The grin becomes wolfish. “Very well, then.” Lucifer returns to his place, but he doesn’t manage to fully expel the sigh because Gabriel continues, “we’ll compromise to semi-public sex. That’s as low as I can go.”

Then it’s Gabriel’s turn to get on one knee and kiss Sam’s wrist, never once taking his eyes off of Sam. The shiver makes Sam’s skin break into goosebumps again. They’re both kneeling.

“I plead my soul, my heart and my mind to you, Sam Winchester. From hence forth, I shall strive to be the sword that slays all that which wants to harm you, the shield that protects, the water that erodes walls, and the willow that shelters you. From this moment until Death will guide us on a different road, forever and ever I shall remain yours truly.”

Sam can’t help the tears that gather in his eyes. He changed the vows because they didn’t sound true spoken by himself, but hearing those words from Gabriel’s mouth feels like solid ground emerges beneath his feet.

He leans forward at the same time as Gabriel and they seal the vows with a kiss— which Gabriel turns into something that shouldn’t be suitable for such an audience. Still, the cheers, whistles, laughs and claps fill the room all the same.

They stand up and face the room properly, but at that moment Sam’s gaze finds Death’s, a pleased little smile cresting his lips.

Sam turns his head towards Lucifer who came at his side as Michael came at Gabriel’s. He opens his mouth to say what has been clamoring on his mind for a while now, but Lucifer doesn’t let him do it.

“As a wedding gift,” he says, a concession, his features determined.

He watches as Lucifer descends the three smooth steps and walks towards Death. His lips move, at first soundless, but then the entire room shudders, a pressure nobody knew had been there releasing. Death lifts his hands and his shackles dissolve into nothingness.

A sharp intake of breath sounds from Sam’s left and Gabriel’s hand tightens over Sam’s in a bone-crushing hold.

 _I release you_ , seems to echo in Sam’s ears.

Death meets Sam’s gaze, then Gabriel’s one last time before he disappears.

 


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: When Lucifer says “I release you” to Death, I can’t help but imagine, even now, years after I first imagined the scene, Bedelia’s “I believe you” whispered to Will when he’s imprisoned. Maybe Lucifer says with less languor.
> 
> So, I forgot to mention that the name of this fic comes from Sleeping at Last “Slow and Steady”.
> 
> And to finish, if I remember correctly, the whole core idea of this fic (Gabriel being an incubus) was inspired by the Canadian tv series “Lost Girl” where you follow the story of a succubus. It’s a finished series and I loved it XD
> 
> P.S. The poem at the end is written by me. I didn’t write it with the intention of using it in the story, but at the time it came to me when I was around chapter 5, so I added and took out some lines to fit more this story.
> 
> Once again, a shoutout to Jld71 for the art created! You can find the masterpost [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20108128/).

  


The front door to their home is wide open for Mist and Bucky to come inside any time they want — and for Sam to bring in the last two cardboard boxes from his new SUV. He has a more classy Chevrolet Impala in the underground garage, white with two black stripes down the middle of the hood, but he only takes her out on special occasions. 

He sighs as he places them down on top of another and ducks into the kitchen for a glass of water. Gabriel’s cooking, the pot and pan gurgling on the stove, but he is humming softly under his breath as he scribbles something down.

“Smells amazing,” Sam says after he downs one glass and a half, then siddles up to Gabriel and kisses his temple.

“What are you— is that your old poetry notebook?”

Gabriel hums, an amused smile on his lips as he underlines another line, then turns the page.

“I put them here,” he says, finger tracing the words written on the page, “because they sounded nice and were full of imagery and epithets, things that delighted girls and boys alike. They liked to hear me read them one poem or the other that they thought it talked about them.” 

“You said that you'd get rid of it,” Sam points out, the  shadow of a smile gathered in the corners of his mouth.

Gabriel smiles crookedly. “I did, but then I foolishly opened it and read the first poem. Before I knew it, I got to the last one and I had no intention of throwing it away anymore.”

“Oh. How so?”

“I found a meaning in each one,” he says, an arm sneaking over his back and pulling his husband closer. “I found  pieces of you that were too precious to get rid of.”

Sam laughs. “I find it difficult to believe that some dead poets could have written poems about me.”

Gabriel nuzzles Sam's neck. “You don't have to believe,” he says softly. “Just listen. It's enough.”

And Sam listens until he forgets why he thought Gabriel might throw it away.

Later that day when Sam’s things are stowed away alongside Gabriel’s in their room, they lounge on the plush sofa, Mist at the other end while Bucky lies on his side on the feathered white rug.

_ “All my being is a dark verse,” _ Sam reads the underlined lines,  _ “that repeats you to the dawn.” _

Gabriel nuzzles his cheek into Sam’s chest palm stroking his side in such a way as to not tickle Sam. He requested Sam to read the underlined parts, and Sam has an inkling he just likes to hear the rumble of his voice beneath his ear.

_ “There was thirst and hunger, and you were the fruit,” _ Sam continues, turning another page,  _ “There were grief and ruins, and you were the miracle.” _

Gabriel sighs, pushes his face up and Sam leans in to give him the kiss he’s asking for, short and tasting like the blackberry pie they had for dessert.

_ “Naked, you are blue as a night in Cuba.” _ His voice drops to a low, sensual murmur, Gabriel’s face still turned towards him, eyes half-lidded but attentive.  _ “You have vines and stars in your hair; _

_ naked you are spacious and yellow _

_ as summer in a golden church.” _

Gabriel presses his lips to Sam’s jaw, working his way up to the chin before Sam huffs a laugh and places the notebook to the side to turn his full attention on his husband. They exchange slow kisses and light caresses for a while, simply feeling the other’s weight pressed warmly against each other’s side.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you something, since we returned,” Sam says, leaning back against the pillow, Gabriel sighing in satisfaction.

“Hm? What's that?”

“Why did so many people keep telling me to be careful around the house? What was wrong with it?”

“Still is,” Gabriel corrects. “Just because Alastair and Azazel are gone, doesn't mean that the house is back to being an old house.”

“Death is gone, too,” Sam points out. It's subtle, but his expression changes minutely. “Not in that way. He's still around—I think.” Sam kisses him softly, meeting Gabriel's piercing gaze; he conveys everything Gabriel needs to know and he sighs, leaning his forehead against Sam's.

“You know that Death was primarily bound to the old house, right?” Sam nods. “Well, to have him return to my home, I had to perform a blood ritual of my own. Lucifer might have passed the 'reins' to me, but he remained Death's —  _ master _ still.” 

Gabriel sighs. Sam doesn’t see any remnant of disgust or distrust on his face, so they really must have made peace. Who knows, maybe one of these days Gabriel will invite his brother to have dinner with them.

“Wait.” Sam leans back, something clicking into his mind. “The blood ritual  made the house—“

“Soulful, yes.” Gabriel grins hollowly, gaze faraway. 

“But you said that you performed the same ritual in your house, too. Why—“

“Isn't it crazy like the other one?” A dry chuckle. “Blood rituals are powerful, but also tricky. It takes the direct descendants of the Creator of all supernatural beings to bind such a powerful creature as is Death.”

A beat of silence as Sam's cogs work furiously.

“You and your brothers—“

“Bingo. It took the three of us to hold Death. Not that he put up much of a fight— any, in fact. He just looked... tired... and defeated.” 

Sam's palm finds his jaw even as Gabriel sits up, Sam following. He hopes he conveys kindness and understanding when Gabriel meets his eyes.

“We didn't know it at the time, but the ritual affected the house in a way. Things began changing places, doors that didn't have locks sometimes were locked, statues never had the same expression or position when you glanced a second time at them. Sometimes you had the impression that the house was sighing or something equally ghost stories material. It never caused us any kind of harm, except mild headaches when things got misplaced or doors wouldn't open. The house seemed to live its own life along ours as if it never had been just a simple house, and we eventually got used to it.”

“You accepted the house as it was, no matter how crazy it must've seemed to an outsider.”

“As if we weren't a special kind of crazy, yes.” Gabriel grins proudly. 

“Maybe that's why you worked your way around the house's new personality.”

“Because we were one of a kind.”

“Kindred spirits.” Sam grins.

“No, no, no. Let's not go that far.  _ We _ ,” he moves his hand between them, “are kindred spirits. Don't compare me to a piece of wood; I might get offended,” he sniffs.

Sam chuckles. “Don't be so dramatic,” he says as Gabriel jumps on him, even as Sam tries to escape. A fight ensues, until the cordless phone on the low table interrupts them.

Gabriel answers because it’s within his reach. “Hello! You've reached Winchester&Milton's household, how may I help you?”

_ “I want to speak to my brother.” _

Gabriel pauses for a second. “Why, hello to you, too, stranger.”

_ "Put my brother on the phone. Now!"  _

"I'm sorry, but there's no one here called My Brother. Is that a first or a last name?" 

"Gabriel." 

"What? He was mean to me first." 

"Could I have the phone, please?" 

"Well, if you ask so nicely." 

The phone passes between them and Sam sighs as Gabriel goes to sulk on the feathered rug, waking Bucky up. He knows it’s just for show because Gabriel likes to be dramatic whenever he can — even when he shouldn’t, but he still shakes his head at his back as he sits down on the edge of the couch.

“ _ Sammy, what the hell?!? You married a dick and only now I'm hearing about it? When were you gonna tell me?!” _

“Actually there's a super-hot, irrepressibly sexually-driven Incubus attached to that dick your brother married.” Gabriel says in response, loud enough to be heard by Dean.

Sam sighs a long-suffering sigh as Dean sputters curses into the phone. 

“Dean,” he stresses the name. “It's okay. I'm okay.”

“ _ Like hell it is! Things like that take time, Sam. And you got yourself stuck with a dick in a matter of hours. When's the divorce? I swear I'm gonna find the best lawyer this asshole of a country has to offer to get you—“ _

But Gabriel takes Sam's phone from his hand lightning-fast. Damn those inhuman senses.

“Dean-o,” he begins with a sickly sweet voice, “you might be my brother-in-law and all that jazz, but believe me when I say that you will regret you ever thought about taking Sam away from me, if you so much as jeopardize my marriage.”

“ _ You took my brother! _ ” Dean shouts into the phone. “ _ Like fuck I'm gonna take this lying down! _ ”

“I didn't take  _ anything _ !” Gabriel shouts back. “He said  _ yes! _ What more do you need?”

Meanwhile Sam's pinching his nose and wishing he was anywhere else but there. They're fighting like two kids over their favorite toy — which is Sam. They also seem to forget that Sam's word is the one that has the power to tip the scales, and nothing either one will say will become more than angry shouts. 

“Fine! Come here and see for yourself, you stubborn shit! You'll see he's happy—“ Sam looks up at Gabriel's sudden silence only to see a disbelieving Gabriel staring dumbfounded at the phone. “He hang up on me.”

Sam probably shouldn't laugh with as much gusto as he is right now, but Gabriel's expression is priceless.

“Sam, pack your things!” Dean says resolutely as he stomps from the other side of the room, where Death watches as an angry Dean marches like he's going to war. “We're leaving!”

Sam's up and between his husband and Dean before Gabriel has time to react — much.

“Dean—“ Sam begins.

“I won't let you take him away!” Gabriel says and even if Sam's back is turned he can feel the charged atmosphere and the tightness in his voice.

“Dean wait—“

“You'll do jack, you asshole,” Dean spits out. “You're lucky I'm not—“

“ _ Dean!” _ Sam rises his voice, which promptly shuts his brother up. “Will you stop for a fucking minute and hear what  _ I _ have to say?”

“We're going home, there's nothing else to say.”

“I'm  _ not _ going anywhere,” Sam says calmly. “This  _ is _ my home.”

The hurt flashes into Dean's eyes like a beacon. “You're not thinking straight, Sammy.  This asshole—“

“First of all,” Sam says firmly, staring down at his brother. “His name is Gabriel, and I'd like it if you'd use his name in my presence and not some expletive. Secondly,  _ you _ barged in uninvited. It's  _ you _ who should go home. If you want to talk about it, then you're welcome to stay, but if you will continue to be rude to my husband, then I'll kindly ask you to come another time.” 

Dean's jaw might have reached the floor. He certainly didn't expect Sam to tell him so diplomatically to go fuck himself. Sam catches the amused quirk of the corner of Death's mouth. He, too, is trying hard to keep a smile in. Sam's also curious about how come Death and Dean came together. Since when do they know each other.

Sam sighs as Dean looks elsewhere, jaw clenched and muscle twitching. “Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the wedding, but my calls never connected to the number you gave me. I would have liked it if you would've been there, but as you've said, it all happened in a hurry. And you should know that I was perfectly conscious of what I was doing. Nobody forced me into anything, least of all Gabriel.”

Even if Dean seems to relent a bit after that, Gabriel makes sure to rile him back up and it’s only Sam’s patience that manages to keep the two from getting into a fight. There’s nothing he can do about the barbed words they’re throwing at each other.

He’s grateful when Death chimes in and actually — honest to God — makes Dean shut up. But it might have helped that Gabriel toned down his quips and remarks and let Dean be. Then Death suggests that Sam should show Dean around the house which Dean grabs at as if it is a life saving line. It takes Sam about twenty minutes to show his brother all there is to his and Gabriel’s home before he shows Dean where the downstairs bathroom is and makes his way to the living room to ask Death and Gabriel if they don’t want anything to drink because Sam is feeling parched.

But just as he approaches the open french doors he overhears the conversation his husband and Death are having.

"What is it with us and collecting stray Winchesters?" 

"Coincidence," Death says. 

"Or some magical hand I clearly remember I didn't give my consent to." 

"It worked out better than I have anticipated." 

"Consent! I reckon you're familiar with the term." 

But Death changes topic altogether. "My and Dean's encounter was an accident." 

"Really? I wonder how that went." 

"He shot me in the head." 

Gabriel throws his head back with the force of the laugh. "I bet he freaked out when you didn't go down." 

"Actually, he tried to shoot me a second time."

Maybe Sam should just go and prepare himself a drink first. That’s where Dean finds him. Silently, they share the bottle of whiskey between them, not trying to finish it, but just drawing on the comfort that at least Sam feels from having his quarrelous brother share the same space as he.

“Are you happy, Sammy?” he asks as if the question has already beaten a deep path in his mind.

Sam pauses with the bottle near his lips as he glances down at his brother who is studying the apples and oranges and grapes in the fruit basket. He takes a swig and places the bottle between them. Neither move to take it.

“Yes, I am.”

Dean nods, a short, determined movement of his head as if that’s exactly what he was looking for. Sam feels as if something broke and mended at the same time between them. Dean might not be okay with Sam’s choice, but he is going to respect it. If only because Sam finally found his happiness.

 

The notebook lies on the small wooden table, warmed by the late morning sun. Not even the wind is brave enough to turn the page it was left open. The last poem is written in a handwritten style that does not belong to Gabriel, two chained rings drawn at the end of it, in the right corner.

This is the story they never thought they’d live (and die) to get through.

 

_ your hands, cold, run _

_ like wanderers along _

_ the highs and lows  _

_ of my spine, _

_ supine, I lay, _

_ forehead pressed _

_ against your thigh, _

_ it's lines we cross every evening _

_ and walls we build every morning; _

_ we see through each other like _

_ rays of light through broken glass; _

_ we mastered our body language, _

_ we gave it new voiceless words, _

_ new fragments of colours to paint _

_ into hidden crevices and secret nooks, _

_ you breathed sincere assurances into me, _

_ you unmade the knots of sorrow and pain; _

_ I pushed you away _

_ you came the other way, _

_ more pliant, more subdued. _

_ it's our bodies — made of bends, _

_ stretches, freckled maps, _

_ milky valleys and tanned hills, _

_ quivering lower lips, ours to bite; _

_ it's our bodies, ours to feel — and hide, _

_ ours to look at, smile, appreciate, _

_ ours to mingle, protect, desire. _

 

_ I swear, I hoped, I died... _

_ you eased me back to life. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poems Sam recites, in order of appearance:  
> "Reborn" Forugh Farrokhzad  
> "The Song Of Despair" Pablo Neruda  
> "Morning (Love Sonnet XXVII)" by Pablo Neruda


End file.
